


The Summer That Changed Everything

by SenshineKkaebsong



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Domestic, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Harringrove, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Learning Disabilities, M/M, Minor Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Romance, Underage Drinking, implied depression, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenshineKkaebsong/pseuds/SenshineKkaebsong
Summary: Steve's lived two years of his life away from Hawkins, chasing after an illusioned happiness washed away by Californian waves. When he finally returns over summer break, it's to face the demons he'd left behind, including his failed relationship with Billy Hargrove.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington & Erica Sinclair, Steve Harrington & Nancy Wheeler & Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington & The Party
Comments: 12
Kudos: 185





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> It's 2019, and nothing in Hawkins has changed since he'd last been here, two years ago. Steve's changed though. And so has Billy. 
> 
> This is my first ever Stranger Things fanfic. I'm obsessed with HarrinGrove and I've decided to give it a go. Hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> I do not own Stranger Things. Any referenced characters, brands, establishments etc. are not of my own. The characters mentioned are fictional and any interaction between them is seen purely as fictional work. 
> 
> Please do not copy and upload elsewhere!

_Summer_ and _Lazy_ are synonymous with a small town like Hawkins, Indiana. Steve’s mornings usually begin the same - with the stupid, ancient, piece-of-shit walkie talkie that was gifted to him by Dustin, crackling to life, his name being repeated endlessly by the now _very pubescent_ teenager. He bemoans his existence as he lays there, Egyptian cotton sheets pooled around his waist and cool against his skin, the aircon whirring in the background and creating a false sense of calm. Phones exist for a reason. It’s beyond him why the kids insist on using the clunky, battered device sitting on his nightstand. 

_“Steve, it’s an emergency.”_ Mike’s snappishly deep voice booms and he grumbles, pulling his pillow over his head in a useless attempt to block out the boy’s chidings. It’s too late now to go back to sleep. He reaches around under his sheets until he finds his phone and squints into the darkness as he brings it to life - except nothing happens. _Oh_. He must have turned it off before going to bed. Throwing it aside, it lands on the mattress with a soft thud, he allows himself one moment of respite before reaching for the walkie. 

“You shitheads need to understand the concept of vacation. _I’m on vacation_ \- that means I get to sleep late and do whatever the hell I want, and not be subjected to your teenage, angsty mood swings.” He grits, voice raw with sleep. 

_“Steve, finally!”_ Dustin chirps. _“It’s nearly three pm, my man. If you continue like this, we’re never going to see you before you head back to Cali.”_

Steve cringes. Is it really that late? He rubs his eyes, picking at the sleep crusted around it and yawns, stretching out fully. His mouth feels cottonish, tongue stale with beer and whatever he’d found in the pantry to gouge on while gaming into the early hours of this morning. 

“Whatever. What’s the big emergency?” He asks.

“We’re heading to the quarry today, you know, for some good, old-time fun. Wanna join us?” Will offers softly, voice almost completely overtaken by the static. 

Well, Steve hasn’t been to the quarry in _years_ , not after Billy. Hell, it’s his first time returning home since leaving for university two years ago. It’s Indiana though, and he’s willing to bet that nothing’s changed. Nothing ever changes in a place like this. “You dicks just want me to buy booze.”

“Hell yeah!” Mike yells over a chorus of guilty protests. 

He snorts, smiling to himself. “Fine. I’ll meet you guys there in an hour.” 

  
  


There’s no one to greet when he finally emerges from his room, hair perfectly quaffed, a striped polo and khaki shorts thrown on, sunglasses, wallet and car keys in hand. The house is empty and silent as always and Steve doesn’t know why he bothered to come back if his parents aren’t going to be home to greet him. They’re spending this summer in Paris, something about the Parisian sun on the Venetian coast, his mother had informed him several weeks ago over the phone. But the kids are here, he’d promised Dustin he’d visit and spend time with him, has missed him and the others more than he will ever let on. And Nancy and Jonathan had told him they were coming back closer to the end of August for two weeks as well. So here he is, blinking up at the stinging sun and regretting stepping out of his fortress of cold as he unlocks his brand new BMW Z4 Roadster sitting prettily in their modest driveway, framed by a perfectly manicured lawn and leading up to the Harrington’s spectacular, too big, too posh, too fake house. It still has that new car smell but at least his parents had bothered to pull off the plastic coverings from the leather seats. 

He’s impressed by the way it drives, smooth and powerful. It’s his first time taking it for a spin since returning - he hasn’t left his house in weeks in an attempt to avoid any and all human interaction. It was short-lived by Dustin banging down his front door and demanding entry, but Dustin is like a little brother to him, the most important of the group of idiots, so he hadn’t minded too much. Three six-packs of beer and a box of Marlboros later, he’s cruising down the open roads of Hawkins, top-down, trees lining the roads until it opens into the wide expanse of farmlands. Steve almost gags as the fresh scent of cowshit, ever-present in the sprawling agricultural fields, assaults his nose. He’d gotten too used to the salty sea air and congestion of California and has a hard time distinguishing which is better. 

It isn’t long before he’s pulling up at a clearing on the roadside, his old Beamer, a gift from his dad that was his gift to Dustin, sitting under the shade of the tall pines next to an unfamiliar beaten-up wagon. It could be Mike’s, he vaguely recalls him bitching about it. Warm beer in hand and a lit cigarette between his lips, he manoeuvres his way between the trees, the well-traversed trail becoming increasingly familiar until he’s walking purely on muscle memory to reach the small clearing that led to the rocky shore of the quarry’s pool. The kids are already there, splashing and yelling in the water. 

Steve can’t help the smile that stretches his lips at the sight. Two years and they’ve all grown so much. Mike is taller than him for sure and Lucas has definitely bulked up. Even Jane and Will have shot up, threatening Steve’s height. They don’t seem to notice his appearance and he takes his time to place the beers in the cooler of ice on the ground next to their tote bags. He’s just stubbing out his smoke beneath his shoes when there’s a shout behind him and someone comes barreling into his frame, lean arms wrapping around him and squeezing his middle tightly. In his periphery, he catches a flash of bright orange curls and laughs, turning to embrace Max properly. 

“Steve-o!” She grins. He’s relieved to note he’s still got several inches on her. Her outburst has garnered the attention of the others, he can hear them yelling his name and variants of it in the distance, rocks crunching beneath their feet as they run up to him. It’s impossible to fend off their wet bodies all at once and so, he accepts the hugs, kisses, punches and whatever else they dish out at him, feeling the familiarity of it settle in his bones and chasing some of that loneliness away. 

Mike roars victoriously when he opens the cooler and sees it full, and in an instant, the kids are all crowded around it, leaving him disgruntled and damp and a little chilly because the quarry water is always freezing. 

“You should come with us to the diner for dinner,” Jane suggests, pressed against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. She’d tapped out after one beer and resigned herself to sitting with Steve on an old log, watching the others dunk each other in the water. The sun’s low in the sky, golden rays stretching across the rippling surface and outlining the trees around them. “You haven’t eaten.”

Steve’s never gotten used to her perceptive, almost psychic nature, and it's been so long that he jolts away from her, palm resting on his stomach protectively before he realises what he’s doing and flashes an apologetic smile. Jane returns it amicably and waits for Steve to settle down once more before resting her head on him again. “I’m not very hungry. Plus, I bought a bunch of frozen pizzas. My fridge is stocked.”

“Ew.” She says, making a face and Steve laughs despite himself.

“Yeah, ew.”   
  
  


It’s dark out by the time they leave, _the party_ , as they so proudly call themselves, splitting up between the two cars - Max, Lucas, Jane and Mike in one, and Dustin and Will in the other. He follows them all the way back to the diner, proud that they’re safe drivers and not reckless like… well, some people. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t spot the telltale blue Camaro in the car park because he knows Billy is back. Max had quietly informed him as such and while her action made him cringe, he was greatly appreciative that she was caring about the subject. 

They all crowd into a circular booth, the same one they used to fit so easily into back when they were kids and Steve was still in high school. Now, Dustin’s and Will’s shoulders press harshly against his arms and someone’s shoe is digging into his calf. The waitress, a woman Steve has never seen before, comes over and he groans as they all yell their orders over each other. So much noise and lawlessness, he laments inwardly, but the woman seems used to their antics, her perpetually dead-inside look, not even shifting as she scribbles down their meals. Steve settles on a burger and fries, his lack of restraint on caring for his health guilting him into taking water instead of a soda. He’s probably going to steal Dustin’s drink later anyways but that’s beside the point. 

When the bill comes, Steve waves away the kids as they reach into their wallets and pays the tab with his credit card, scoffing when Lucas sheds literal tears at his benevolence. 

“Hey,” Dustin calls as they break to head to their respective cars. Steve turns around and suppresses a shiver. He’s grown out of Hawkins, is too used to endless summers and heatwaves in California, that a chilly summer night like this has him wishing he had a sweater to throw over and maybe some jeans. “Thanks for coming today.” The younger boy says, flashing a small smile. His curls are short, stiff from the quarry water and air drying. 

“Thanks for inviting me, dude. I had a pretty good time. You idiots haven’t lost your touch after all.” Steve teases, leaning against the hood of his car. 

Dustin snorts. “Hawkins too small for a Cali boy like you, huh?” Something in Steve’s features must have shifted at those words because Dustin’s smile drops in an instant and he’s running a hand through his hair, grimacing when his fingers tangle in the knots. “Shit, Steve, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no. It’s fine.” He rushes to placate the younger with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He hates that it’s been two years but the pain still feels fresh. Dustin evidently doesn’t believe him but doesn’t push it either, nodding solemnly. 

“Can we come over tomorrow? Maybe reheat the shitty frozen pizza you have and play some Dark Souls and Kingdom Hearts?” He sounds so hopeful, like he gives a shit about Steve being alone all summer with no family, that it’s hard for him to turn him down.

“Sure,” he sighs. “But Jane hates frozen pizza so I guess I’ll have to cook something.”

“Awesome, I’ll ask mom to bake me some brownies. Please tell me you have alcohol and weed.” 

“Woah, hold up, fuckface. There is no way in hell I’m letting you fools get shitfaced in my house. No alcohol and definitely no weed. You guys are way too young.” 

“But you were drinking and smoking when you were our age!” Dustin protests, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve smiles fondly as he reminisces on his high school days before it tapers off into a bitter quirk of his lips. “Yeah,” he laughs sharply, “And look where that’s gotten me.” He's an idiot who had to repeat his last year of high school because he was too stupid to get into college. Any college. Feeling sorry for himself isn't on his agenda for tonight though so he clears his throat and powers through. “I might have some beer in the fridge. You all can have that but no hard alcohol and definitely no weed. Got it?” 

“Whatever, mom. See ya tomorrow.” Dustin huffs, eyes shining with gratefulness and Steve ruffles his hair before climbing into his car and driving away. 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was reminded that Steve technically graduated before Billy so I've rewritten parts, making Steve repeat high school so they can graduate together and follow a similar academic timeline :)

He sets his alarm for eleven am and miraculously wakes up only one hour later than intended, throwing on the first pair of jeans and an old sweater that he finds before heading out to Melvald’s. Joyce’s wide brown eyes, mouth parted in surprise, greets him as he enters. “Steve!” She rushes around the checkout counter and pulls him into a motherly hug that makes his heart stutter in his chest. Steve melts into the short embrace before pulling away, allowing Joyce to pat his shoulder. She's so small, it's almost comical the way she has to stretch. "Will told me you were back but I almost didn't believe him until Jane confirmed it - with pictures to boot." 

So Joyce and Chief Hopper are still dating -- good to know, Steve muses. He manages a short smile. "I've been catching up on sleep. I guess the pictures are from yesterday?" The lady nods gently. "Ah, yeah. I met them at the quarry."

"Will likes to think I can't tell when he's drunk." Joyce snorts, tucking a strand of her short, auburn hair behind her ear. "Kids forget that their parents were once their age." She gives him a meaningful look and he smiles apologetically for being the reason the party had access to alcohol in the first place. 

"I figured I owed them for missing out on two years of their stupidity." Steve admits with a shrug, prompting the woman to laugh. 

"No need to explain it to me," She waves him down the aisle with a basket. "Jim is the one who's going to be breathing down your neck when next he sees you."

"Don't worry, there'll be no illegal activities tonight!" He calls over his shoulder, debating on whether to go with the penne or spaghetti and ultimately choosing spaghetti.   
  
  


Steve doesn't get to cook at all at university. Between barely managing to scrape by with passing grades in his courses and basketball practice - the one thing he’s actually good at, he's almost too tired to shower on most days. He's failed two courses thus far but he counts that as a victory - knowing him, it's a miracle he hasn't flunked out of university entirely. Or maybe it's his parents' generous donations as established Alumni at UCLA that has kept him a student. Still, he owes most of his academic success, however little it may be, to Robin, always there to push him and break things down in the most basic and mundane way that often makes Steve feel like a five year old but brings about a sense of understanding of the material he otherwise would not have been able to grasp. YouTube helps too but he can’t interact with a prerecorded video to ask for further explanations because he’s too stupid to understand the work in front of him.

Said girl is currently lying in bed, nose in a book while Steve putters around the kitchen, pasta boiling in one pot and marina simmering in low heat in another. It smells like his nonna's kitchen, takes him back to summers in the Italian countryside with careful, aged hands cupping his cheeks, combing his hair and holding his hand while walking through the farmer's market. "I wish I could smell what you're cooking." Robin's words cut through the silence and cause Steve to jump. She's looking at him now, smirk apparent and eyes twinkling. 

"Jesus, you should have just come back with me." He glares at the blurry image of her on his phone propped up on the counter, hands on his hips. 

Robin wrinkles her nose like it's the least attractive suggestion. "No thanks. The summer courses I'm taking are much more attractive than your band of merry dweebs." If there's a reference somewhere in there, it flies over Steve's head. It took him ages to understand pop culture references that weren't explicitly mentioned in memes, far less for more obscure ones like those Robin often uses. 

"Suit yourself. I guarantee you, this tastes better than you think." He holds up a spoonful of sauce and blows on it before tasting. "Mmm, so fucking good."

"Dingus." Robin huffs, smiling fondly. "Anyways, your idiots should be around soon. I'm gonna leave you to play housewife and head down to the pub. Hanna is playing tonight."

Steve ignores the jab and raises his eyebrows curiously. "Oh yeah, how's that going?" 

"Great." The girl grins, all pixelated but adorable nevertheless. "Now goodbye. Don't poison the dweebs. I'll message you later." The video call disconnects and Steve sighs, grabbing the colander to strain the pasta.   
  
  


“Fucking Freja!” Dustin screams, nearly throwing the controller down in a fit of frustration. Steve swears he almost has a heart attack. 

“Give me that.” Mike snipes, snatching it away and settling down. 

“Summon Ashen.” Will interjects. “I’ve been telling you guys that.”

“And use your goddamn Soul Arrows.” Lucas chides in exasperation, throwing his hands in the air before settling next to Max. She rolls her eyes at his antics but allows him to curl an arm around her and pull her in for a hug. 

“It would be nice if someone could help me with these dishes.” Steve sighs, knowing his call has fallen on deaf ears. Jane winces at the hideous spider on the television that’s almost large enough to cover the wall. With the last of the plates in hand, Steve trudges to the kitchen and carefully dumps them in the sink. They’re stained red with marinara sauce and he allows the water to run over them for a bit while he tidies the kitchen. It isn’t long after that Jane stumbles in and takes a seat on the barstool at the island, peering at him curiously while he washes the dishes. There’s enough food left for lunch and dinner tomorrow so his poor stomach can get a break from all the frozen pizza. 

“Where are the brownies?” She asks, scanning the countertop. 

“In the fridge,” Steve answers absent-mindedly. “Didn’t want the frosting to melt.” He hears Jane puttering around, the opening of the fridge door and the soft _woosh_ of it closing shut. Just as he thinks he’s alone once more, Jane’s head presses against his back, her arms coming to hug him the way Max had yesterday, just gentler. 

“Thank you for tonight.” She speaks into the fabric of his shirt. “We missed you.” 

Steve’s hands still, covered in suds, water running from the tap wastefully as his stomach knots itself. “Uh, yeah, you’re welcome.” He replies when he finds his tongue, mouth dry. 

He turns fully and watches her walk away, longing bubbling in his chest. He hates being alone. 

At eleven, Steve gives up on being a pleasant host and unplugs the television upon which ensues a cacophony of shrieks and screams. “Listen you dickbags, I’m fucking exhausted. I don’t know how your teenage bodies can go for hours like this but mine can’t. So get the hell out of my house so I can sleep.” He finishes with his most severe look, feet planted firmly on the floor and arms crossed over his chest.

“Jesus, you’re such an old man.” Dustin groans, lifting himself off the floor. “Guys, Steve went to college and came back as a loser.” 

“Jokes on you, Henderson, I was a loser before I left.” It’s said lightly but the effect the words have on the party is visible. Everyone looks down at their shoes, protests about leaving immediately dying on their lips. 

“God, it was just a joke. You guys really need to get out of my house.” Steve laughs. 

Will looks at him sceptically but rounds up the others like the well-behaved guy he is, the teenagers following him to the door. 

“Uh, Max?” Steve calls upon seeing the redhead sitting on the couch. She looks up from her phone. “Aren’t you leaving?” There’s something gnawing at his conscience, telling him that the inevitable is going to happen tonight and his intuition has never been wrong before. Her eyes speak the same, lips quirking softly at the ends. 

“Billy is coming for me.” 

The silence around Steve is deafening. The kids are still stood at the door, unmoving, a perfect picture of guilt. Dustin or Mike could have easily dropped her home. He’d gotten away when Billy’d dropped Max off at the quarry but now he’s coming here for her. What are the odds that he’d actually come out of his stupid Camaro and to his door? 

"Oh.” One syllable, spoken quietly. Neil bailed after Billy went off to college and through Dustin, he’d found out that the other boy has been coming back during Christmas and summer breaks to spend time with Max and Susan. It’s the main reason why it’s taken Steve two years to return to Hawkins. 

“We can wait if you want.” Dustin offers, one foot already out the door.

“Why would I need you to wait?” Steve arches a brow challengingly. He is pensive but Steve's also tired of running away. Dustin opens his mouth to speak, thinks, and promptly shuts it. “Thought so. Now go home before your parents start calling me.” He watches from the doorway as they pile into their respective cars and flips them the bird as they roll out of the driveway and onto the street. 

Max is tidying the living room when he returns, the discarded throw pillows, miraculously unstained, being returned to their places on the couch. He turns on the Roomba and watches as it clears away brownie crumbs from on the floor, zipping around the legs of the coffee table and the couches. 

“Why is he coming?” Steve asks, running his hand through his hair. 

“He offered.” Is Max’s reply. 

Before Steve can mull over those words, the doorbell rings.


	3. Three

He contemplates letting Max let herself out but that isn’t in his nature. Despite how much he’s teased, he knows he’s adopted a mother hen sense of responsibility around the party and he cares for them all deeply. Which is why he finds himself walking Max out to the front door to make sure that it’s really Billy who has come to fetch her and not a kidnapper. Although a kidnapper may have been the better alternative. Steve only marginally hates himself for thinking that. 

The door swings open to reveal Max’s brother,  _ step-brother _ , he hears Max’s twelve-year-old self grit in annoyance, dressed in the fittest pair of skinny jeans known to man, a white wife-beater and a black leather jacket thrown over. His curls are smoothed back on the top of his head, the sides graded down in what Steve refers to as the ‘ _ modern-day fuckboy look’ _ . The black onyx stud in his left ear glints teasingly under the foyer’s chandelier, a reminder of Steve’s part in the younger’s life - he’d gifted him that on his birthday. Billy pretty much looks the same, breathtakingly handsome but thankfully, without his scanty moustache. He smiles as placidly as he can, stepping aside to let Max pass. If Billy’s affected by the sight of Steve, he doesn’t show it, has always had a brilliant poker face and it’s never irked him as much as it does now. “Hey.” Billy greets, pulling his hand from inside his leather jacket’s pocket to give Max room to stand at his side. It looks like he wants to hug her but he’s refraining from doing so because no matter how great their relationship has built itself up to be over the years, he still enjoys being a dick to her at times. 

“Hey,” Steve replies. “How are you?” In the shadows on the porch, Billy’s ocean blue eyes look like emerald green melding into black and it draws Steve in like a moth to a flame. He wants to reach out and touch his smooth skin, run his fingers through those gelled strands and over his red lips. 

“Been better, pretty boy.” The nickname is spoken with such delicacy only known by the most intimate lovers that Steve nearly stops breathing altogether. His eyes widen, lips parting but nothing comes out. 

“Come on, Billy. I’m tired.” Max groans. Steve’s gaze flits to her for a second, swallowing hard before returning to the male. 

“That ain’t my fault, shitbird.” He sighs, throwing an arm behind him in the general direction of his Camaro, sitting like a damning contrast next to Steve's BMW. His orbs never leave Steve, lips lifting into a gentle smile. “It was good seeing you, Harrington.” He nods once and turns, following after Max who has already stomped down the stairs to the car. 

Steve stays rooted in the doorway, body frozen and fingers ice-cold long after the tail lights of the car disappear. He stares out into the night, seeing flashes of blue and green waters every time he blinks.   
  


“-And it’s like she doesn’t even _ know _ The Rasmus, Steve,  _ god _ \- hey! Are you even listening to me?” Robin yells. 

Steve blinks vacantly at his phone until Robin’s extremely put off face comes into focus. “Not really.” He admits with a lazy shrug. “Sorry.”

“If I knew you were going to be such a drag, I’d have called Nancy instead.”

He purses his lips. “Nancy? Of all people?”

“Exactly.” She mutters. “That’s how bad of a friend you’re being right now. Why are you so spacey?” She flaps her arms above her head and Steve snorts. 

“I met Billy last night.” He watches as the girl’s eyes widen. 

“What? How?” 

“He came over to pick up Max.”

“And?” Robin presses. 

“And he looked good? I don’t know, we didn’t really talk. Well, he did. I just stood there like a gaping fish or some shit. He called me pretty boy, said it was good to see me and left with Max.”

“Huh,” She says softly. “Are you okay?” 

“I mean, I guess I am. Seeing him again after so long was like a shock to my system. It honestly kind of pisses me off that he still affects me like this.” 

“Well, that’s not really surprising. You guys had something special.” 

He’s long past denial. A part of him will always love and long for Billy no matter what bad blood they have. Hell, a year after Billy almost put him in a coma in a pathetic attempt to starve out his interest in Steve and  _ boys _ in general, they ended up together.  _ Boyfriends. Lovers _ . Whatever they were. Billy was filled with a lot of rage back then, a lot of unresolved trauma, tormented by Neil, had to deny himself for the longest time and smother who he was to avoid becoming his asshole of a father’s punching bag. But that was then. 

He looks good now, healthy even. Better than he’d ever been when he was with Steve. And that stings a lot more than it should. “Yeah, we did.” He scoffs. 

The crackling of the walkie interrupts his thoughts and he glares at the offensive thing just as Jane’s voice calls his name. Robin cackles and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I guess you gotta go. The chicks need their mommy.” 

“Shut the fuck up, lesbian weirdo.” He groans, prompting the girl to laugh even harder, slapping her leg aggressively. Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll talk to you soon.” He doesn’t wait for a response before ending the call. By now, Will and Dustin have taken to calling him as well. 

“What do you assholes want now?” He snaps. All he wanted was a peaceful, people-free day. Why? Why did he have to come back to Hawkins? 

_ “Hey!” _ Jane protests. 

“Not you.” Steve amends immediately. 

_ “Hey!” _ Dustin yells. 

He can feel a migraine brewing behind his eyes. “Jesus, fuck. I’m going to switch this stupid thing off.

_ “No!” _ Lucas pipes in.  _ “Dude, we’re going to see a movie. Come with us.” _

“I hate movies.” 

_ “Come on, grandma.” _ Dustin whines. 

“I thought I was an old man.”

_ “That was last night. This is today. Grandma, come see a movie with us or I’m coming over to your house and-” _

“Okay, okay. At least tell me what we’re watching.” 

Dustin laughs darkly but it doesn’t have the effect he was going for.  _ “Ghostbusters: Afterlife.” _

By the time Steve leaves the house, his migraine is in full swing, rendering him nauseous and a little lightheaded. He should have stocked up on Excedrin but was naive, thinking that it wasn’t necessary. Everything hurts and the glare from the sinking sun is a bitch, exacerbating his already sensitive eyes. The cherry on top comes in the form of Billy’s Camaro parked alongside the theatre, the man leaning against it in less form-fitting jeans and a grey hoodie. He looks warm and comfortable, cigarette tucked between his lips, wisps of smoke unfurling from between them and the lit end of the stick. The kids are around him, chatting excitedly in all their geeked-out glory, popcorn buckets already half empty and soda cups considerably lighter. 

Steve’s wearing a thermal sweater, one that he’d left back at home because California required nothing more than light shirts, and a jacket thrown over. For some reason, he’s freezing. “Wow, you look like shit, man.” Dustin says as he makes his way over, not bothering with introductions. He can feel Billy’s eyes on him but pointedly keeps his gaze away from the other. 

“Thanks, shitbrain. Do you guys have the tickets?” 

“Right here.” Will waves the paper stubs. 

“Who do I need to pay for mine?” Steve asks, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket. 

“Oh, it’s fine. This one’s on me.” Billy pipes up. Steve's eyes immediately fly up to the younger, the action so jarring on his already pounding head that it makes his knees weak and he stumbles back a little. 

“Wow, dude, maybe you should go home.” Dustin speaks, one of his arms secured behind Steve’s back. Everyone’s looking at him with varying levels of concern. 

“I’m fine, it’s just a headache. Let’s go.” He ushers the teens into the theatre, Billy trailing along behind him. While their tickets are being ripped, he turns to the boy and nods. “Thanks for paying.” 

Billy shrugs and smiles charmingly, all teeth and no tongue. “It’s nothing.” He smells like smoke and that ridiculously expensive, woodsy cologne that always drove Steve insane with lust. Now though, it makes him feel sick, like he might vomit his brains through his nose if Billy gets any closer. Swallowing hard, he enters the dimly-lit theatre only then realising that he’s most likely going to have to sit with the man. The others are already settled in, their party taking up the entire row. Steve would roll his eyes if he could, taking a seat behind Jane and letting Billy sink down next to him. 

It isn’t long before movie-goers begin to trickle in bit by bit until the cinema is half full. The lights go out and the screen lights up. Steve suppresses a hiss at the brightness, grimacing. Maybe he can keep his eyes closed during the previews. He settles back in his seat a bit more, head resting fully on the cushioned surface, eyes closed, taking measured breaths to ensure he doesn’t throw up on himself. “You’re supposed to be watching the movie, Harrington.” He hears Billy’s teasing voice on his right and grunts in response, too fatigued to open his eyes to glare at him. “Are you okay?” The query is softer this time, more concerned, also weirdly distant. 

“Yeah,” He mutters, the words ringing in his ears. “Just... gimme five minutes.”  
  
  


“Steve. Hey, Steve. Wake up.” 

Steve blinks into awareness, confusion settling over him as he takes in Billy’s face hovering alarmingly near to his own, lips pulled into a frown. “What-” He groans, mouth snapping shut when the overwhelming pain in his entire head is made known. “Fuck.” 

“The movie’s over. They’re ready to clean up now.” Billy explains. He moves away, giving Steve the opportunity to sweep his gaze across the now empty theatre with the exception of two attendants, brooms and scoops in hand. 

“The kids-” 

“They’re gone. Come on, I’m taking you home.” Billy offers Steve his hand and he knows he shouldn’t take it but he’s certain he won’t be able to get off the seat, far less to make it out of the cinema without aid. He’s carefully helped up, warm and gentle hands guiding him out of the building and into the crisp night air. 

Unfortunately, it does little to alleviate the hammering in Steve’s brain. He spies his car, sitting alone on the streetside. “Where’s your car?” He asks, perplexed.

“Max took it home. You’re in no condition to be driving, Stevie. You should have stayed home.” He’s ushered into the passenger’s seat and watches through bleary eyes as Billy shuffles into the driver’s. The man lets out a low whistle, clearly admiring the interior of the car, hands running over the dash and steering. “Damn, pretty boy. You really got it good, huh?” He chuckles softly. At some point, he’d fished Steve’s car keys from his pocket and the car comes to life with a low rumble. 

“I guess.” He responds. “It’d be better if I had parents to greet me instead of a shiny new car, though.” The truth comes out before he can even register he was thinking it. Billy thankfully remains mum and pulls onto the road, but as they begin the drive back to Steve’s place, he reaches over the gears and gives his knee a light squeeze, palm warm through the denim of his jeans. 

Steve doesn’t manage to fall asleep again. They’re at his house before he knows it. If he wasn’t so consumed by excruciating pain, he’d be adamant about Billy not entering his house, but he’s incapacitated and allows himself to be directed to his room, shoes being carefully discarded as he’s laid under the thick comforter. “Where are your painkillers?” Billy asks, looking in the nightstand drawer where he’s always kept them and frowning when he finds none.

“Forgot to buy.” Steve admits with a dry laugh.

“Fuck, Steve. You never take care of yourself. I’ll be back.” Before Steve can respond, Billy’s out of the bedroom. Even after two years, it seems like he hasn’t forgotten the layout of the massive house, moving around effortlessly. Steve’s too tired and cold to shuck his clothes, figures this’ll have to do until tomorrow, and resigns himself to waiting until Billy returns with a bowl and a bottle of water. He opens it and urges Steve to drink, pressing the mouth of the bottle against his lips and refusing to move it until he swallows several small sips. It doesn’t alleviate the nausea but it doesn’t make it worse either. 

“What’s that?” He asks, eyeing the bowl. 

“Cold compression.” Billy explains. He watches as the boy wrings a soaked tea cloth and folds it carefully before placing it on his forehead. 

Steve jolts at the coldness but there’s almost immediate relief of some of the pain behind his eyes and travelling down his jaw. He hums appreciatively. 

“Get some rest. I’ll leave once the water gets warm.” Billy murmurs. 

It’s pretty fucking cold right now so Steve doesn’t know when the water will become too warm to use. It’ll be too late either way and Billy doesn’t even have his car to get home. “Stay the night.” He finds himself saying. “It’s too late. Take the guest room.” 

“Okay.” Billy acquiesces quietly. Calloused fingers trace over his cheek and through his hair gently, blunt nails dragging across his scalp and massaging down to his neck. Steve sighs contentedly, soaks in the feeling of Billy’s warm thigh pressed against his side and caring touches lulling him to sleep.


	4. Four

“Steven Harrington! Why are you asleep in your dress clothes? And why is there a cigarette butt in the sink? Goodness, we let you go off to university and in two years, you come back like a neanderthal.” Steve must be dreaming. He has to be because the last time he checked, his parents were sipping on Chardonnay and eating macarons in an overpriced  _ ‘quaint’  _ cafe somewhere in France. He peels open his eyes to see his mother’s bright yellow summer dress sweeping across the room as she picks his clothes off the floor and throws it all into the dirty hamper. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, sitting up. He feels gross, having slept in his cinema clothes but his headache has lessened to a dull throb, making everything more bearable - including his mother’s presence. 

She turns to him with an affronted look, large, brown eyes narrowed and crimson lips pulled into a frown. “We cut our trip short because your father has a meeting in Chicago. We came to see you before heading off. Our flight’s in five hours.” 

“Oh.” He mutters, unsure of what to do with that information. 

“I trust you liked your gift. Your father and I picked it out.” 

“The car? Yeah, it’s nice.” He shrugs.

“ _ Nice? _ It cost us a fortune, Steven. Of course it’s nice.” She laughs, shaking her head. 

Steve never asked them for a car and he bites his tongue to keep from saying as such. Instead, he swings his legs off the bed, eyes widening when he spies a paper bag from McDonald’s sitting on his nightstand next to a bottle of Excedrin. His walkie is off and his phone is miraculously on silent despite the blinking notification light. Did Billy do all this for him? It certainly couldn’t have been his parents. The mere thought makes him scoff. 

“Are you going to eat that?” His mother grimaces as he peers into the bag. There are two McMuffins. 

“Yep.” He replies, already shoving half of one into his mouth and chewing slowly. It's not like she's going to offer to make him a homestyle breakfast.

“Goodness, Steven.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Just don’t let your father know you’ve been eating junk.” With that, she steps out of the room and Steve finally breathes, scarfing down the rest of the food and popping two pills into his mouth. He washes it down with the water from last night and sets about to take a long shower. 

By the time he’s done, hair damp, the ends dripping onto the towel slung around his neck, his headache is gone and he grabs his phone, replying to the kids and assuring them that he’s okay. It’s already nearing one in the afternoon when he finally comes to an unnamed chat. There’s a familiar number sitting in the inbox with a single message. Steve swallows and opens it.  _ Got you some food and meds. Managed to slip out just as your folks were coming down the street. Sleep well pretty boy and fucking take care of yourself. _

He rereads the message until the words begin to blur, breaths heavy and eyes misted over. God, he’s such a fucking idiot. Billy took care of him last night, treated him like he still meant the world to him, and here he is, falling for it all over again. But he can’t let that happen because when summer ends, Steve’s going back to California and Billy’s going all the way to fucking New York.   
  
  


His father is nowhere to be seen when he exits his room fully clothed and clean. His mother’s in the kitchen making tea and she barely spares him a glance as he passes by and heads out the front door. In minutes, he’s in the car and heading out to the Hargroves. 

The place is as shoddy as he remembered it. It’s not the best part of Hawkins and the structures in the area reflect that. It seems like Billy's kept busy though - there are stone slabs leading to a newly painted front door and flowering vines hanging from planters beneath clean windows. Steve steels himself, takes a deep breath, and knocks on the screen door. It takes a while before he hears heavy footsteps and the door opens to reveal a disgruntled, sleep-ruffled Max, her bright curls in disarray and pyjamas ruffled. "Steve? What are you doing here?" There's nothing but genuine surprise in her tone as she opens the door wider and steps aside to let him in. The old couch is gone and so is the massive box television, replaced with a modest flat screen tv and more contemporary furniture. The inside is definitely more updated than outside, well-lived in but clean and comfortable. 

"Uh," he says, eyeing the couch but remaining standing, "Is Billy home?"

Max's eyebrows shoot to her forehead before a slow smile unfurls across her face. "No. He's at Alexei’s.” When Steve doesn’t immediately reply, she huffs. “The mechanic, Steve. He works there whenever he comes back home.” 

“Oh, right.” Billy used to do that too during summer when they were still at Hawkins High in addition to being a lifeguard at the community pool. He remembers blatantly staring behind his Gucci frames at the endless expanse of bronzed skin stretched over Billy’s muscular body, red lifeguard shorts snug over his ass and blond curls a stylish mess as he sat himself on the tower, legs spread invitingly and tongue licking over his teeth ever so often as if he was taunting Steve to have a taste. “I’ll go check him there then.” He says, feeling a lot hotter under the collar than he should.

“Sure,” Max says. “Tell him I texted him about heading to the arcade later and spending the night at Jane’s. He never checks his phone at work.”

Steve rounds on her. “Do you have permission to do that? Does Hopper or Joyce know?” 

“Shut up, mom. There’s a reason why I texted  _ Billy  _ and not  _ you _ .” Max groans. “Of course Hopper and Joyce know, and so does my mom in case you were wondering.” 

“Good. If you girls need anything, you can call me.” He says, ignoring Max’s eye roll and heading out the front door.

Alexei’s Repair Centre is an asphalt yard filled with an array of cars stationed around the singular structure that serves as the office and repair shop. Billy’s Camaro is parked near the entrance of the building but he’s nowhere to be seen. The smell of grease and gas is strong under the sun and Steve wrinkles his nose as he walks around, between vehicles in various states of disrepair. He stops at white Chevy pickup, jacked up on the left, a pair of legs sticking out from underneath it. “Billy?” 

There’s a loud clatter and a string of muffled curses before Billy rolls out from under the body, left cheek smeared with grease and anger brimming in his blue eyes. “Steve, are you trying to fucking kill me?” He rasps. Whatever tool he’d been holding must have fallen on his face - there’s a reddening spot at the centre of his forehead. Steve bites back a laugh but is unable to stop himself from smiling. It seems to placate Billy a little, his shoulders relaxing and the snarl on his lips simmering into a curious frown. 

“What are you doing here? Your fancy car already broken down?” Billy pulls an old piece of cloth that was haphazardly shoved into the pocket of his grey coveralls and wipes the grease from his fingers. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not at all. I came to say thanks for last night. You know, for taking care of me and stuff. I know I must have inconvenienced-”

“Not at all, Harrington,” Billy assures him with a laugh. “It was my pleasure taking care of Hawkins’ esteemed princess.”

“Jesus, shut up with that already.” Steve laughs, shoving the boy playfully. He always hated when Billy called him that, even when it stopped being a slur and became more of a pet name. “Anyways, I came to say thanks for what you did. And for the food and medication. I feel a lot better.” 

“You look better too.” The younger nods at him. “How are your parents?”

“The usual. They have a flight in a couple of hours so chances are I won’t be seeing them until next year - if I come back.” 

“You should. I’m always here whenever I get the chance.”

“Cali is further away from Hawkins than New York is.” Steve retorts. 

“And you’re the one with the fortune. Plane tickets shouldn’t be hard for a trust fund baby like yourself to procure.” 

“I rather stay in California. It’s really grown on me.” He can hear the harshness in his voice, anger simmering beneath his skin. 

“I can see that.” Billy comments sarcastically, eyeing Steve from head to toe. “You’re still pale as fuck and Buckley never shuts up about how you’re always cooped up on campus.” 

“Yeah, well the only thing I wanted from California decided to ditch me at the last minute and move to fucking New York for college without a fucking warning so I guess you can’t really blame me, huh?” 

“Really? You’re gonna play  _ that  _ card? You know Neil would have found me in Cali. Steve, the whole point of going to college was to get away from that cunt. And in case you haven’t noticed, New York has made me better. I  _ feel  _ better. I  _ am _ better.” Billy’s words are like a knife puncturing his chest. He despises the authority in his tone, the confidence he radiates, but most importantly, he absolutely hates how right he is. Billy would have never found peace in California. 

“You made me chase you all the way to California only to find out you weren’t even there.  _ That’s _ the card I’m playing.” Steve snaps. 

“You think I wanted to do that? Steve, how many times did I try to call you? How many messages did I send on your Instagram, Facebook and Whatsapp? You ignored them all. Don’t play the victim here. You’re just as much at fault as I am.”

“What were you gonna say, huh? Apologise for suddenly declining your UCLA placement and going to MIT instead? Were you gonna apologise for leading me on?” They’re both yelling now. Steve’s grateful that they’re the only two people present though he’s willing to bet the tall Russian owner is lurking around somewhere, fiddling with his glasses awkwardly and wondering what to do with them. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. That’s what you think I did?” Billy laughs incredulously, eyes wild and fists clenched. He grits his teeth, storming forward and pushing Steve back with a firm hand to his chest. “I never fucking led you on, Harrington. Not once. I fucked you, I sucked your dick, I took care of you when you were sick, I tolerated your child army. I even beat the shit out of Tommy and nearly got expelled for you. You think I did all of that just to drop you like nothin’?” 

Steve swallows. “It sure felt that way.” He whispers harshly, shoving Billy’s hand away and running his fingers through his hair. 

The hurt that flashes over Billy’s face makes him want to slap himself for being an asshole but a part of him also knows that this entire argument is necessary, was a long time coming. “You know I would never do that.” He says dangerously low, jaw straining and muscles bulging from holding himself back on lashing out. The old Billy would have already punched him in the face. It only adds to the bitterness consuming Steve, driving the point home that Billy was better off without him, that he’d made the right choice to drop him and Cali and move to New York. “I think you should go.” 

“Yeah,” Steve laughs harshly. “I think so too.” He walks away, slamming the door of his car shut when he enters.   
  
  


Erica Sinclair is sitting on his front steps, face pulled into a scowl when Steve arrives home. His fuming anger that he’d managed to build up during the ride back turns into annoyance and he gives her a scathing look, walking straight past her and slamming the door shut in her face. If he keeps this up, soon he’ll be slamming his dorm door in UCLA. He barely manages two steps before she knocks at the entrance, unstopping and each rap becoming increasingly louder. It’s a good thing his parents have already left for the airport or they’d definitely hound him about it. “What do you want?” He sneers as he swings the door open, peering down at the girl. She looks at him, unfazed and unamused by his antics where the party would be quaking by now. The girl has gusto, he’ll give her that.

“I cannot believe you came back and didn’t tell me. I had to hear it from Lucas of all people.  _ ‘Oh Steve’s so amazing, Steve’s hair still looks great, I bet Steve has a boyfriend that he isn’t telling us about’.”  _ She gives her worst impression of Lucas, ever, while pushing her way past him and into the foyer. 

“That still doesn’t answer my question.” He sighs. Might as well let her do as she pleases at this point. It’s not like Erica has ever understood the word  _ no _ .

“I’m here because I missed your stupid face. Stop being an asshole about it. Sheesh.” 

“Fine, I missed your stupid face too. There, can you leave now?” 

Erica stops mid-trek to the living room and turns to him. “Um, hell no. You owe me, Steve Harrington.” 

“How do I-” Steve begins but he’s cut off by a palm to his face. “You’re taking me to the mall. I have some things to get and you’re the only available driver.” 

“Fuck no.” Steve snaps. 

Fifteen minutes later, they enter through the automatic doors of Starcourt Mall. The airconditioning feels like a blessing against his skin since Erica had insisted he keep the top down despite the sweltering heat. In an instant, she’s grabbing his hand and dragging him through the throng of people milling about until she finds her first destination, a store wrapped in pastel pink and fashionable clothes and accessories hanging from every available space. Steve eventually loses count of how many department stores they peruse, Erica constantly asking his opinion on every single thing she tries on. He keeps telling her he’s not her Gay Best Friend, that he’d never even go near clothes like that but she predictably ignores him and moves on to the next item. By the time they retreat to Scoops Ahoy, Steve’s arms are laden with shopping bags, half of which are his purchases for the kid with some extra things for the others as well. 

“I want two scoops of mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone and salted caramel for the nerd behind me.” Steve hears her order. He’s about to pull out his credit card but she stops him, handing the cashier the last of her pocket change. 

“Since when has your taste become so refined, kid?” Steve asks, licking away at the ice cream. 

“Since you left. It’s literally been two years.” She snorts. “Thanks for today, by the way.”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “What’s up though? I mean, this is great and all but where are your friends?”

Erica’s mouth twists and she scoffs. “I don’t have friends, Steve.” He’s about to protest but she continues. “I have acquaintances, but not friends.” 

“What about the party?” 

“Those nerds? No way. Dustin is the only cool one there. I have no interest in the others. And Dustin is busy.” 

Steve sighs. “I know what that’s like. My last year of high school was a shitstorm because of Billy. I lost all my friends too. I guess they weren’t really my friends, to begin with, if they dropped me when the bullying began.”

“Yeah, that dude beat the shit outta you.” Erica laughs. “Still don’t know how you two became an item but what was even weirder was how perfect you guys were for each other.” She scrunches up her nose like it physically pains her to admit that. “I still prefer Robin.”

“She likes girls.” Steve deadpans.

“Exactly. Anyways, have you and Billy made up yet? I heard Lucas talking to Dustin on the stupid walkie about it.”

“What were they saying?” He arches a brow in interest, biting into the cone and crunching on it thoughtfully. 

“Dustin still hates him. But he thinks you’re still sad because of the breakup.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.” 

“You had two years to move on, Steve. I’m sure there are hot girls  _ and _ guys all over UCLA.”

“Just because I miss him doesn’t mean I didn’t date anyone else, you know.” Erica looks at him in surprise and he laughs. “I’m King Steve. The ladies love me out on the east coast. But it just wasn’t the same.” He finishes with a shrug.

“I think you deserve better but it’s whatever that makes you most happy.” 

Steve finishes the rest of his cone and throws away the napkin that had been wrapped around it before lugging Erica’s shopping bags out of the mall to the car. By the time he drops her off, it’s dark and he returns home, feeling weirdly content and pleasantly exhausted. It’s silent in the house, everything pristine and untouched like his parents hadn’t been home just hours ago. He takes a quick shower and scrolls through Instagram and Facebook mindlessly, too many loud, intrusive thoughts bouncing around in his mind. He’s too tired to deal with them though, today had been enough of an emotional roller coaster, and he tosses his phone aside with a huff when he realises it’s after three in the morning and finally forces himself to sleep. 


	5. Five

It’s pool day apparently, and Mike’s car is down which means Steve’s in charge of ferrying some of the kids. He’s pleasantly surprised by the inclusion of Erica this time around and grins at her through the rearview mirror as she piles in after Lucas. The pool hasn’t changed, not that he expected it to, but there are considerably fewer people around his age - most of the pool-goers are young highschoolers and it makes Steve cringe. He’s wearing his swim trunks, the ridiculously short deep green pair with pink stripes running down the side of each leg, faded from years of use, and a polo that immediately comes off once he finds an available beach chair with an umbrella. Unlike some people, Steve doesn’t tan - he  _ burns -  _ and he’d like to keep his skin free of pain. Before he can pull out the bottle of sunscreen, bags are being thrown at his feet and the kids are pelting away from him and toward the pool.

A shrill whistle blows and Steve cringes. “No running poolside, dipshits! And go put on some sunscreen!” Billy yells. It gains a chorus of groans and _ fuck yous  _ from the party, and excited giggles and squeals from the other girls and older women lounging in and around the water. Steve rolls his eyes, of course, every little thing Billy does is treated like he ended child hunger. On the upside, the kids return and he smirks victoriously as he squeezes the thick, citrus-smelling liquid into their outstretched arms. 

“Make sure and get behind your necks and on your ears.” He reminds them, eliciting another round of groans. 

“God, if I wanted my mom and dad here, I would have brought them along.” Mike snaps. 

Steve rolls his eyes at him, letting the comment fly over his head. He sighs as he finally settles down, earbuds plugged in and playlist on shuffle, rotating through his collection of modern and 80’s pop and rock with some r&b and rap thrown in between, pointedly avoiding the lifeguard tower.

He drifts off while listening to  _ Wham! _ only to be roused when something wet and cold drips onto his face. Groaning, he pushes back his sunglasses and uses his discarded shirt to wipe the water droplets that snaked its way down his neck before frowning up at Billy. His face is wet, hair slicked back and dripping, a wry smirk on his red lips. “The kids are hungry and I’m off my shift. Wanna go with me to the diner?” 

Steve wonders if this is his way of extending the olive branch. It’s been a week since they screamed their heads off at each other and he hasn’t seen him since. It’d be a good opportunity to right their wrongs and possibly have some peaceful alone time but… Steve looks out at the pool and frowns. He can’t leave the kids alone.

As if reading his mind, Billy laughs. “Jesus, Harrington, they’re teenagers. How many times do you think they’ve come here unsupervised?” The thought makes him a little sick but Billy is right. They’re growing up and they don’t need Steve to look after them as much anymore. 

“Fine.” He sighs, climbing off the beach chair and stretching. He doesn’t miss the way Billy’s eyes rove over his body, shamelessly checking him out. Snorting, he bends down to snatch his shirt.

“Your ass has gotten bigger.” Steve chokes on a scream and spins around at Billy's comment, cheeks burning and eyes narrowed. He smacks him on his bare chest with the shirt before quickly tugging it on. 

“Squats. I actually work out at the campus gym now.” He says haughtily, making sure he has his wallet. He contemplates signalling to the kids that he’s leaving but they’re too enraptured in a game of marco polo to care. 

“Ooo, Steve’s a big boy now, huh? You sure look like one too.” Billy grins, shark-like, unlocking his Camaro and sliding in. 

“Whatever.” Steve laughs. He enters a little more hesitantly, the stuffy interior that smells of cigarettes, sweat and weirdly, cookies washing over him, nostalgia hitting like a trainwreck. They’d spent so many nights in here - driving through Indiana until the sun began to crest the horizon, watching movies and  _ not watching movies _ in the drive-in, escaping from Neil, Steve calming Billy down before he went on a rampage, laughing until their breaths fogged up the glass, drinking expensive whiskey stolen from Steve’s dad’s study on the hood while overlooking the quarry. He reaches out and drags his fingers over the dash with a smile, unaware of Billy watching him carefully. AC/DC blasts through the speakers as the engine roars to life and Steve snorts at how typical this all is. The diner’s a short drive away, they get there quickly, comfortable silence hanging between them. Steve orders burgers for them all, doesn’t bother with their special sides or shakes like he knows they’d want. 

“What are you having?” He asks Billy, who shrugs, his unbuttoned shirt shifting and exposing more of his impressively tanned and chiselled chest, still slick with sunscreen. “Maybe we can share a pizza?” He suggests, looking back at the menu board. 

“I’m fine with anything, honestly. Get me a shake too, the chocolate peanut butter one. That was your favourite.”

“Still is.” Steve huffs, giving his order to the waitress -  _ Jenny _ , her name tag reads. They wait on the barstools, Billy drumming his fingers idly against the countertop and Steve trying to imagine what the place would look like if the tired 80’s glam decor was to be replaced. He’d definitely start with the tacky black and white checkered floor tiles. 

“Here ya go.” Jenny comes back fifteen minutes later with a massive bag. “Seven burgers, one Margherita pizza and a chocolate peanut butter shake.” Her smile is as greasy as the food as she stares at Billy hungrily. He winks at her and licks his lips before taking the bag and shake from her hands and exiting the diner. 

“Can’t believe you still have older women falling for you.” Steve laughs, slurping on the shake as Billy passes it to him. 

“What can I say, I’m a real lady killer.” Billy snorts. They eat the pizza and share the milkshake on the drive back. It should have been disgusting, the way Billy practically swallowed the slices in two bites, cheese and sauce smearing his lips and chin that he’d wipe away with the back of his hand, unbothered. Instead, he’d been a little awestruck by all the teeth, lips and tongue, jaw working and nostrils flaring. Steve had forgotten how ravenous the younger boy’s appetite was, leaving the pizza box empty by the time they park.

“Finally.” Max sighs when they return, rushing for the bag to get her burger and then throwing it to the others who flock around it like vultures. They’ve clearly been out of the water for a while, their clothes damp and skin completely dry. Steve finishes the last of the shake and ignores Dustin’s whines about sharing. He watches them eat with an air of satisfaction, Billy somewhere near the lifeguard station chatting with Heather, the girl who relieved him. It’s almost closing time anyway and he herds them into groups to head to the respective changing rooms. 

By the time they’re back, most people have vacated the premises, a few stragglers still hanging around the poolside. Billy returns, a bag slung over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring whatever Max is talking to him about. “Hey, what are you doing after this?” He asks, falling back as the kids walk ahead. 

“Uh, nothing.” Steve replies. “Why?”

“I’ll come by around nine. Don’t fall asleep on me, I don’t think I can climb through your second-floor window the way I used to.” He grins, pushing ahead and picking Max out of the group with an arm around her shoulder. She elbows him weakly but doesn’t shrug him away and he leans down to knock his head gently against hers.

Steve shakes his head without having time to formulate a response, not that it would have mattered anyway. He takes his time dropping the Sinclairs home and then driving all the way to Mirkwood because it seems Hopper’s staying the night at his desolate cabin in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and Jane wants to stay with him. He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally gets to his own house, stripping off his clothes and immediately heading to the shower to wash off the day’s dirt and grime. He takes a long one until the already cool water goes cold and his fingertips become pruney, leisurely chooses a comfortable t-shirt and pair of shorts, and runs his hand through his hair enough times that it doesn’t look like a complete mess without product. Steve’s got a half-eaten pot of Kraft mac and cheese in the fridge and he cracks open a beer while reheating the food, queuing the latest season of _ Sex Education _ on Netflix. He’s halfway through episode two and his second beer when the doorbell rings. 

Steve pulls himself off the couch, stopping to check his teeth in the foyer mirror before opening the door. Billy’s dressed in the softest-looking grey sweatpants and a black hoodie, edges worn and frayed with time. He suddenly feels extremely underdressed despite being in his own house and given the hour. It’s just after nine, on the cusp of quarter past the hour. He lets Billy find his way, grabbing two more bottles of beer from the fridge before joining the younger on the couch. “Sex Education, really?” He snorts, grabbing the television remote and looking for something else to watch.

“I was watching that, you know.” Steve huffs, handing over a beer. 

“You have the worst taste, Harrington.” Billy’s lips stretch invitingly over the mouth of the bottle, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows the cold liquid. He pulls off it with a soft pop, licking his lips to catch the stray droplet that threatens to fall from the plump flesh. 

“Clearly.” Steve glares at him, smirks when Billy takes offence and flips him off. They settle on the second Kingsman movie, Steve doesn’t mind it but he prefers the first. When Colin Firth begins his rendition of  _ Take Me Home, Country Roads _ , in his ultimate, heroic self-sacrifice, Billy throws an arm around the couch, fingers brushing Steve’s shoulder, and leans closer into his side. He’s hyper-aware of their proximity to each other, the boy’s muted cologne and natural scent mixing perfectly, his body warm and comfortable against his own. Every now and then, Billy’s breath will hitch or he’d huff out a laugh or curse and it’s so fucking endearing that Steve’s heart clenches beneath his ribs. By the time the end credits are rolling on, Steve’s almost fully leaned into Billy’s side, the boy’s arm wrapped properly around him and holding him in place. 

“Now that was some good fucking entertainment.” He says. 

“I prefer the first.” Steve counters. 

“Yeah?” The hand is removed from around him and he’s gently pushed back so he can look into those bright azure eyes. Steve nods and Billy smiles at him, warm and genuine, nothing like the smirks he’s been giving Steve all day. “You’re right.” He chuckles, leaning back against the couch with a groan. The silence engulfs them for a beat before he speaks again. “So, are we going to talk about that fight?”

“We should.” Steve replies, palms getting clammy and stomach twisting itself in knots. He’s had enough time to sort through the mud in his head and find a diplomatic way to express himself. “I wanted to apologise for the things I said. Logically, I know that you never used me and that you genuinely cared for me but my feelings sometimes speak louder than my brain and I’ve been carrying around the baggage for so long that I kind of just let it all out.” 

Billy sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Apology accepted.” He mumbles. “I need to apologise too, for like, everything. I should have told you that I also applied to MIT and that I’d decided to go there instead. We should have sat down and talked about it. You were always the one person I could trust but I was still shitting myself thinking that Neil would somehow find out and drag me back here or never let me leave in the first place. I know I said a lot of shitty things before I left-” 

“We both did.” Steve amends.

Billy nods. “-we both said a lot of fucked up shit to each other before I left but it tore me apart when you ghosted me, Stevie. That was the one thing I didn’t expect to happen.” He laughs, a hollow, fickle sound. “You have no idea how many times Buckley stopped me from driving all the way to fucking California for you. I even got Henderson to beg you to come back for summer last year.” 

“What?” Steve baulks, astonished. “Yeah right, Hargrove.” He laughs disbelievingly. 

“I’m serious, asshole. Ask him yourself. Ask any one of the shitbirds, they all know.”

“Big Billy still hung up on King Steve, huh?” Steve mutters to himself, shaking his head. This was not what he’d expected of their talk. Not even remotely close. The closure and apologies are great and all, but Billy’s confession, while heart-stopping, isn’t what they need at the moment. And neither is his.

“Am I wrong to think you still feel the same way about me?” Billy questions, leaning into Steve’s space.

“No.” Steve admits with a frown. “But we can’t just pick up from where we left off. A lot has changed.  _ We’ve _ changed.” 

“Finally using that pretty head of yours, Harrington.” The boy laughs, pulling back easily. “You’re right though. So what, we start over?” 

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugs. “What’s going to happen when this summer is over? I can’t handle another heartbreak, Billy. Long-distance relationships suck. Dustin barely lasted two years with Suzie.”

“Who the fuck is Suzie?” Billy scrunches up his nose.” 

Steve laughs. “Not important. I can do long-distance but only if you’re committed to it as well. Otherwise, we can forget about starting over.”

“It’s a little too early to talk about that already, isn’t it?” Billy scratches his temple, frowning in thought.

Steve nods. “It is but it’s necessary. We’ve been here before and at the end of the day, we know that this is where the problem lies. It doesn’t make sense trying if this is going to be a summer fling.” He sees the younger cringe at the words, jaw working in an attempt to keep his cool. 

“Fine, you’re right. I’m willing. The future isn’t guaranteed, everything can change before Christmas even rolls around, but I’ll try to the best of my ability.”

“Good. That’s all I’m asking for. I will, too.” He smiles. 

“So, can I touch your dick now?” 

“Jesus, you’re a fucking creep, you know.” Steve smacks Billy’s reaching hands away, laughing loudly. Netflix is asking him if he’s still there and he remembers he has his show to get back to. “No dick touching, you neanderthal. Get out of my house, go home and sleep.” Steve makes a shooing motion with his hands. “I still need to watch my show that you so rudely interrupted.” 

“Tomorrow then?” Billy asks, easily complying with Steve’s request. There was a point in time when Billy would throw a fit and some fists when Steve kicked him out. The contrast is startling but welcoming. He stands and stretches, sweater riding up and exposing a glorious strip of tanned skin, light brown wisps of hair curling beneath his navel and disappearing beneath his pants. Steve’s mouth goes dry at the sight. 

“Yeah, tomorrow. I’ll message you or something. You know where the door is.” 

“Always so crass, pretty boy.” Billy chuckles, leaning down to press his lips to Steve’s forehead. It’s warm and moist and he gets a lungful of that delicious woodsy cologne with floral undertones. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” Steve waits until he hears the Camaro’s engine fade to let out the breath he’d been holding, wondering if he’s making the right choice. 


	6. Six

It turns out that Nancy and Jonathan are back, a week earlier than promised, and they commandeer Steve’s attention for the entire day, his promise to Billy falling flat and replaced with rushed apologies as he waits for the couple to step out of the diner with their food. 

"Where to?" He asks, cringing at Jonathan's obscure music choice when he takes the aux cable hostage. It sounds like one of those indie bands that Robin might actually be into - the ones that play at the cafe down the block from their dorm on Saturday nights. 

"The fair." Nancy murmurs around her burger, juice dripping down her dainty fingers, strands of hair escaping her messy bun, whipping around her face. Jonathan twists around to pass her a napkin which she gratefully accepts. Steve had stopped hating Nancy for leaving him for Jonathan a long time ago, but it’d taken much longer to stop hating himself for being the source of her unhappiness. The relationship the trio formed was a strange one, one forged from having siblings who relied on Steve more than they did their older sister and brother. He’s happy now though, seeing them together three years later, there’s no doubt in his mind that they’re perfect for each other. Jonathan is what Nancy’d needed and it shows in their effortless cohesion. 

They end up spending the entire day at the fair, Steve complaining about how underwhelming it is compared to Santa Monica Pier where the air is fresh, salty and cooling, the rides more thrilling and definitely safer, and the food a million times better. God, he’d kill for a fish taco right about now. Nancy rolls her eyes until she resorts to smacking the back of his head every time he protests, yapping about Illinois and its distinct lack of  _ ‘fun country things’ _ while Jonathan laughs at their antics. Steve would never admit it but gets homesick every now and then. Hawkins may not be keeping up with the big cities like California but it has that special sleepy feel and easygoing familiarity that’s hard to shake. 

Jonathan finally taps out when Nancy suggests a third round on the Gravitron and Steve follows after him, parking himself on a bench near the cotton candy stall. “Man, I have no idea where she gets all that energy from.” The taller sighs. His hair is longer than last time Steve saw it during their customary monthly video call, the ends reaching just past his shoulder, giving him the  _ absolute hippie vibe _ . 

“Must be the air in Hawkins.” He jokes, gesturing at the open expanse of the Fun Fair around them. 

“Yeah right. I’m trashed. It’s probably all the slurpees she’s had. I think that was her third.” 

“If that’s the case, cracking open the booze later isn’t going to bode well for her stomach.” Steve cringes. 

“Don’t worry, she can handle herself.” Jonathan laughs. “How are things with you though? Will told me they’ve been dragging you all over Hawkins in an attempt to get you out of that big old house of yours.” 

This time, when Steve laughs, it’s a tired one. “Yeah, they’re good kids. Annoying assholes--”

“--Mike.” They add in unison, giving each other incredulous looks before cackling at their synchronised response. When Steve finally catches his breath, wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes, he continues, “But I’m grateful for them. They made coming back and staying here for all of summer worth it.” 

“Glad to hear that, buddy.” Jonathan claps him on the back, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. “I heard you’ve been hanging with Billy too.” He tags on, curiosity swimming in his orbs. 

He shrugs. “Not really  _ hanging _ , not yet anyway, but we’ve been around each other a few times. And we talked.” He admits. “There’s still quite a bit of stuff we need to figure out but we’ve made amends with the past and atoned for our mistakes.” 

The older boy’s eyes widen a little, a small smile tugging at his lips, shoulders visibly relaxing. “That’s great, dude. Nancy will be stoked to hear that… I think.”

“She never really liked him, did she?” Steve ponders.

“Nope. I mean, I sort of understand why after he went apeshit on you at our house. I mean, dude broke a fucking plate on your head. Mom was pissed - it was grandma’s. But I think once you’re happy, she’ll be okay with it.” 

“Speaking of the devil,” Steve laughs as Nancy trudges over, a little pale in the face and unsteady on her legs, clutching her stomach. The evening sun washes over her in the most flattering of ways, long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. 

She smiles down at them but it looks like a grimace more than anything else. “I’m done.” She admits. “Let’s go to that stupid hill we always went to, to watch the fourth of July fireworks.” 

“Does this mean I’m going to have to lug both your wasted asses back to the car down a steep hill in complete darkness?” 

“Righty-o Steve, my boy.” Jonathan grins, already getting up and following Nancy to the car park. He sighs, cursing the pain he’s going to be in later. 

Night falls slowly around them, the fiery oranges stretched across the sky slowly deepening to burning red and then murky purple. It’s almost impossible to see the stars back in Cali, but here, surrounded by miles and miles of nature, they’re bright against the inky black backdrop, not a cloud in sight. Jonathan predictably produces two tightly wrapped joints and Steve adds a bottle of Scotch that he’d picked up at Melvald’s to the mix. They lie in the grass, dew soaking into their clothes as they trade stories and pass the bottle and joints between them. Steve remains mildly responsible, drinking less than his friends since he has to drive, and allows the haze of the weed to fuck him up in the best way possible, mouth dry and body light. 

“Any thoughts on what you’re going to do after college?” Nancy questions. Steve thinks she might be slurring her words a little too much but doesn’t dwell on it. She’s in safe hands. 

“Not really. My parents have been mentioning the business whenever they bother to contact me but you know that’s not really my thing. I’m not sure what is.” 

“You have two years left.” Jonathan reminds him, blowing a cloud of smoke through his nose and sneezing right after.

Steve laughs and nods. “True. My degree isn’t the worst but I’ve never been smart so even with all the hands-on and technical aspects of Info Tech, it still trips me up. Sounds like you two are doing great at your jobs though.” 

“Freelance photography and photojournalism pay.” Jonathan shrugs. 

“And my internship at the Illinois Post is almost over. They’re already talking about making me a full-time journalist.” Nancy adds, and she’s definitely slurring. 

“That’s good. I’m really happy for you guys.” Steve says. Robin is a fucking dean’s roll student, at the top of all of her classes and from what Steve’s heard, Billy’s doing pretty well in his mechanical engineering courses too. 

“What about teaching?” Nancy suddenly pipes up, bloodshot eyes widening for just a fraction before drooping again. 

“ _ What? _ ” Steve grimaces.

“Wait, Nance could be on to something, Steve. Think about it, you’re great with kids, you’re good with elementary work, you have patience the size of the Great fucking Wall of China, and you’re like the nicest, most caring guy we know. You’d be perfect for that.” 

“I don’t want to have to deal with a bunch of asshat kids, guys.” He deadpans. 

“But you deal with the party. And they actually listen to you. Everyone knows teenagers listen to  _ no one _ .” Jonathan’s speaking passionately, like he’s really trying to drive his point home. Steve would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind at least once. But he’s not certain he’d want the futures of children to be in his very incapable hands. Also, did he mention he is stupid? “You don’t have to agree or anything, but give it some thought. We’re friends with a middle school teacher. We give you her contact if you want and you can ask her about it. Maybe do some research of your own too. I don’t think teachers get paid very well but you’re a trust fund baby so it shouldn’t matter. You’ll be doing something you’re great at and could potentially love.” 

Steve purses his lips. “I’ll think about it.” 

Nancy throws up twice before they reach the car and he’s pretty sure Jonathan has grass in his hair and mouth from the number of times he trips over his own feet and faceplants into the ground. Once they’re safely buckled into the backseat, he quickly and carefully drives them back to the Byers where thankfully, it’s Hopper’s night off and he’s able to help manoeuvre them into Jonathan’s old room. Joyce is at the front door to thank him for bringing them back and wish him a good night and safe return home when he’s leaving, arms aching from lugging their deadweight and vomit splatters on his Vans. 

He finally checks his phone when he exits the bathroom, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Nancy’s Insta stories are filled with pictures of their day at the fair and night on the hill. He reposts some to his own story and finally clicks on his chat with Billy. There’s only one message telling him that it’s okay, to have fun and be safe and he smiles, replying with _ ‘I’m home, gonna sleep. I’m beat. Ttyt’  _ before climbing into bed and turning in for the night. 

Steve awakes the next morning to an incessant tapping somewhere to his left. He groans and grumbles and curses until he’s too awake to ignore it. Thankfully, he isn’t hungover, but he is tired and his mouth is uncomfortably dry. Shuffling over to the window where he’s just about ready to strangle whatever fucking bird it is that thought it was a great place to perch itself, he flings open the blackout curtains, eyes going wide when he spies Billy just barely hanging off the window sill. The younger mouths something that looks suspiciously like ‘ _ fucking finally, Harrington _ ’ before a slow, predatorial smirk unfurls along his face, eyebrows lifting and tongue slipping out between his lips to wet them salaciously. Billy’s eyes are drawn somewhere below his chest and he looks down in confusion, screaming when he realises he’s stark  _ naked,  _ his dick on full display for the man. 

Throwing back the curtain, he scrambles for sweatpants and haphazardly tugs it on, cheeks and ears burning with embarrassment, before unlocking the window and letting the boy in. He climbs in effortlessly, like he was built for sneaking around and fitting into the most obscure of places, letting out a heaving sigh and wringing his hands to return circulation to the limbs after having to cling to the guttering for so long. “Thanks for the show, pretty boy.” He finally says with a laugh and Steve throws a pillow at his head which he easily dodges and lets fall to the floor. 

“What are you even doing here? Why didn’t you, oh, I don’t know, knock or ring the doorbell like a normal human being?” Steve hisses. 

“Felt nostalgic. I regret nothing. It was definitely worth it.” 

“Pervert.” Steve snorts, heading out of his bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen, setting up the Keurig for a cup of Columbian Roast. Billy eventually finds his way downstairs, pulling a slightly crumpled paper bag from his sweater pocket.

“Breakfast.” He states, handing it over. Steve takes it with arched brows and peers inside. There’s an egg salad sandwich and a tuna mayo. 

“Good call,” He nods, taking the egg salad for himself because he knows Billy likes the tuna. He hands Billy the cup of coffee and puts another to brew for himself and they both settle around the kitchen island to eat their breakfasts in companionable silence. 

“So, did you have fun with your stupid ex-girlfriend and her ugly hippie boyfriend yesterday?”

“Really? You’ve resorted to calling them childish names now?” He huffs. “But yeah, it was nice to catch up, especially on home ground. Got baked on the hill too.” He remembers then that his shoes are still covered in puke and grimaces at the thought of cleaning. It’ll be fine if he throws them in the washer, right?   


“Hey, the bitch never liked me. I’m not going to pretend I respect her.” Billy defends. Steve knows he doesn’t mean what he’s saying but he’s going to have to get the boy to behave himself because he’s sure they’re all going to be hanging out at some point before summer ends. 

“Right. Anyways, now that I’m free, what do you wanna do?” 

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I sorta took yesterday off at the garage and the pool because I thought we were hanging out so I can’t take today. Heather will kick my ass and Alexei needs the help. I get off at five though so tell me what you’re doing then and I’ll come meet you. Maybe we can grab dinner and catch a movie at the drive-in like the old times.” He winks. 

“Yeah, no. You’ve had more than enough of your fill this morning.” Steve laughs. He still can’t believe he flashed Billy from his window, though he supposes that if it were to happen to anyone, it’d be him. “But dinner sounds great. What time do you have to go?”

Billy looks down at his watch and sighs. “Now, actually.” He drains the rest of the coffee from his mug and walks over to the sink, resting it down. 

“Call me when you get off.” Steve says, coming up next to him wash their mugs. Billy hums, pushing into his side, a hand coming to rest easily on Steve’s waist. He gives it a gentle squeeze and leans in to kiss his cheek, breath smelling strongly of coffee and mixing in with his cologne and aftershave. It shouldn’t be an appetising combination but Steve finds it irresistible, stealing a lungful of his scent as discreetly as possible. 

“Enjoy your day.” He says, breath warm against Steve’s ear before pulling away and heading out the door.


	7. Seven

The blanket of domestic bliss dissipates as soon as Billy’s gone. Steve shakes the emptiness and coldness clinging to him like a second skin and decides to busy himself. There are too many thoughts knocking around in his head, loud and unfiltered. He hates feeling like a failure, always has been. He’s not stupid enough to think he managed to get into a prestigious university all on his own. He’s failing everything, C grades don’t really count as passes, everyone he knows is moving up, bettering themselves, thriving, and he’s fucking stuck, terrified of the future because no matter the angle he looks at it, it’s bleak as fuck. He’s a disappointment to his parents and even though he promised his therapist he’d stop having these thoughts, he can’t help but think that the reason why they’re always away is because they’re ashamed of having a son like him. 

Steve tackles his shoes and gives his room a tidying, unsure of what Billy had been doing when he’d left him up there this morning while he made coffee, before getting a call from Dustin, telling him they’re at the Wheelers and he should bring pizza when he’s coming. It’s not so much a request as it is a demand and he only allows himself ten seconds of irritation before agreeing because he hates this house and can’t seem to escape the self-hatred that goes with it. He shows up a little after one, just to spite the little shits, flashing his most polite smile when Mrs Wheeler answers the door and escapes to the basement where the party is camped out. Dustin’s playing a roleplay game with Will and Mike and called Dungeons and Dragons and Steve tries not to let his mind wander into the more rated implications of the name. Lucas and Max are cursing and yelling at each other as they sit in front of the Wheelers’ massive television playing Mario Kart, and Jane and Erica are engaged in a game of air hockey. Steve announces his presence and the arrival of the pizza, gets completely ignored and snorts, throwing himself onto the free couch under the small basement window, pulling out his phone and filming a boomerang clip for his Insta. When he’s satisfied, he tags them all, watches as they pause their games when their phones go off in unison, checking it and frowning up at him all simultaneously. 

“Pizza’s here, idiots. Stop whatever you’re doing, go wash your hands and come eat.” He points at the two boxes on the coffee table. Will is the first to get up and slowly, they all follow after him, dragging their feet and grumbling about their ruined games. It gives Steve time to think about his conversation with Jonathan and Nancy. He’d ended up taking Olivia Ferguson’s contact info, found her on Facebook through Nancy’s friend list and stalked her account for the better part of the day. It surprised him how touched he was by all the photos of her students engaging in arts and crafts, sports, on field trips and during normal learning classes. He could see himself doing that, teaching and caring for the next generation. His parents might hate it but they’ve never been involved enough in his life to reprimand him for his actions or life choices. 

“--Steve!” Dustin yells. He blinks vacantly, gazing around the room. Dustin’s got a slice of pizza in hand, waving it in his general direction. “I was asking if you want a slice, dude.” 

“Uh, no. I’m good.”

“Did you even eat?” Jane asks curiously, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I had a late breakfast.” He sticks his tongue out at her, watching her lips curl at the ends into a fond smile.

“More for us.” Mike shrugs, grabbing the slice from Dustin’s hand. 

“Hey, shitheads. I have a question.” Everyone stops chewing and chatting, focusing their attention on him. “Do you guys think I’d be a good teacher?” 

They stare at him for a beat before Erica scrunches up her nose. “What kind of question is that? Like what kind of teacher?”

“I dunno, middle school I guess?” 

Lucas shrugs. “I think so. You’re pretty cool sometimes, and you’re good with us so why can’t you be good with other kids too?”

“Are you thinking of becoming a teacher?” Max asks, sceptical. 

“It’s just an idea. I don’t really know what I want to do and yesterday Nance and Jonathan suggested it so I thought I’d do some research.” 

“I mean, I can see it --  _ Mister Harrington _ ,” Dustin cringes. “But it’s your life dude. Do something you like.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know if I’ll like it.” 

“You’ll figure it out.” Jane grins at him reassuringly and nods for emphasis. 

“Thanks, shitheads.” He smiles. 

Billy calls him exactly at five. He’d been just about falling asleep on himself after the kids started a new DnD campaign with everyone included, too confused to keep up with their gameplay and fancy jargon. He ends up going out onto the porch to smoke, waiting until the blue Camaro pulls up in the driveway next to his car. “You didn’t have to wait here,” Billy says, stepping up to him, looking freshly showered. He’s in washed-out blue jeans and a white t-shirt. 

“And risk Mrs Wheeler pouncing on you? No thanks.” Steve grins, letting Billy take the cigarette from between his fingers. He watches as the boy brings it up to his lips, takes a long drag and throws it into the grass, stubbing it out with the sole of his shoe before blowing out a thick cloud of smoke through his mouth. 

Billy smirks. “Nobody can compare to you, pretty boy.” They head inside and as they round the corner into the living room, Mrs Wheeler attacks, dressed in her workout gear, blonde hair tied up in a bun. 

“Hello, Billy.” She says in a cloyingly sweet tone, red lipstick matching the red stripes running the length of her purple tights. 

“Good afternoon Mrs Wheeler.” Billy replies, suave, flashing her a charming smile. Steve tenses, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t even know why he feels threatened. Billy doesn’t like older women. He just likes teasing them. 

“Oookay, we’ll be downstairs.” He laughs, forced, and takes Billy’s hand, dragging him down the stairs and into the basement, the younger boy snickering the entire way behind him. 

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous,” Billy says, taking in the kids surrounding the coffee table, the empty pizza boxes now lying on the floor. 

“'Sup, shitbirds.” He calls to the group. Max flips him off and the others grunt in response, Dustin adding a stink eye before Will elbows him to pay attention to the game. They settle on the couch Steve had been previously occupying, Billy immediately taking advantage of the space and throwing himself down, head pillowed on Steve’s lap. 

“Hey, asshole, no molesting Steve in my house!” Mike yells and they both flip him off. The younger’s piercing blue eyes are staring up at him and he fidgets, a pout forming. 

“What?” He asks, pulling out his phone just to have something to do with hands so he doesn’t end up running them through Billy’s hair or tracing over every inch of his face. 

“Nothing. I just missed this a lot.” Billy responds openly. Steve doesn’t know what to do with that answer, lets out a slow breath and bites his lip as he scrolls through Facebook. Eventually, the head in his lap shifts and he peers down to see the boy asleep, long lashes brushing against his cheeks, lips slightly parted and chest rising and falling steadily. He smiles, snaps a picture and goes back to stalking Olivia’s Facebook profile. Steve checks his own, clears out any possibly incriminating pictures he might have, not that he posted many photos to begin with, and feels a little bit better about himself. After an hour of debating with himself, he shoots Olivia a message and the reply is almost instantaneous. She accepts his friend request, telling him that Nancy had already told her that he might message her with some questions and she’s more than happy to describe her work life to him and what it was like getting her Bachelor’s in Education. 

He gets caught up in conversing with her that he doesn’t realise Billy’s woken up and is observing him carefully. “Who ya chatting with, Harrington?” He hears the sleep-heavy voice, almost making him drop his phone. 

Licking his lips, he looks down at the younger and shrugs. “Just a friend. I wanted to find out something.” 

“I’ve been watching you text for almost fifteen minutes now. What exactly do you need to find out?” Billy sits up and tries to peer at the screen. 

Steve pushes him away and pulls the phone to his chest. “Stop being rude. It’s not that important.” 

“Really?” Billy arches a brow and repeats slowly, “Who were you chatting with?” 

“Olivia, a friend of Nancy and Jonathan, and now my friend as well. And actually, it is a little important.” Billy looks at him patiently, waiting for him to continue, “But you need to stop acting like that. Your insecurity was one of the issues when we were together.” 

The younger scoffs, gritting his teeth. He breathes out harshly through his nose, silence encompassing them for several beats and Steve automatically prepares himself for the inevitable fight -- but it doesn’t come. “You’re right, sorry.” He forces out harshly. Steve’s a little taken back, by his tone but also because Billy  _ apologised _ . He fucking apologised. 

“Uh, no, it’s fine. I want to talk to you about this but not here. It’s kind of important.” The look he receives is one of utter panic and he realises a little too late the implications of his words. “N-not like that,” he quickly amends. “Jesus, Billy. It has to do with college and my future.” 

“Fuck Steve. Don’t do that shit.” Billy groans, burying his face in his palms, hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Sorry.” Steve sighs, rubbing Billy’s back and feeling the muscles loosen beneath his palm.

“Come on, I can’t stay here any longer.” He stands and stretches, Steve following him. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Do you have ingredients at home?”

“For what?” 

“Anything, Steve. Anything we can cook that’ll be edible.”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve scratches his head. 

“Good, we’ll go to your place, then. Maxine!” He calls over to the girl who looks up at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you getting a drop home or do I need to come back for you?” 

“Don’t worry. Hop will drop me when he picks her up. Go spend time with your boyfriend, asshole.”

“Later shitbird.” Billy laughs. They take their own cars, Steve driving ahead, Billy’s atrocious music blasting from behind. When they finally arrive, he goes straight to the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards for whatever is quick and easy to whip up, settling on vegetable couscous and rosemary-infused pan-seared chicken. He tasks Billy with cutting the veggies while he seasons the meat and then they switch places, Billy turning the chicken breasts and taking them off the heat while Steve makes sure the couscous is al dente before adding the veggies and the rest of the seasonings. It takes them roughly thirty minutes to finish the meal and Steve opens one of his mother’s expensive imported white wines from Italy and pours them a generous serving each to wash down their food. Billy offers to do the dishes while Steve cleans the kitchen and by the time they’re done and settled on the couch,  _ 500 Days of Summer _ playing in the background, Steve’s running on a high from the domesticity of their night and the perfect outcome. 

“So, about earlier.” Billy hums to let him know he’s listening. “Yesterday Nance, Jonathan and I were talking about our futures and all that shit, and I realised I don’t know what I wanted to do with mine. They suggested teaching.”

“Teaching?” The younger mutters, considering. 

“Yeah. I was a bit uncertain about that, and I still am, but it sort of makes sense? And I can actually see myself being a teacher and not completely hating it. They gave me a contact for one of their friends back in Illinois who's a middle school teacher. She’s the person I was chatting with earlier when I finally worked up the balls to message. Ended up being really helpful about it, I guess.” 

“So you’re thinking of becoming a teacher?” Billy’s looking at him now, no judgement in his eyes. 

“Yep. I have time but third year starts soon and I don’t know if I can just barely pass another year of IT without stabbing myself in the eye.” 

“You’ll have to switch degrees.”

“Olivia said I may have to withdraw completely and then reapply for the Education programme.”

Billy winces. “That’s going to cost a fortune.” 

“It’s a good thing I’m loaded then.” Steve laughs, worried. 

“No, look. It’s a lot when you think about it but if you feel in your heart that it’ll be the right choice then go for it. Fuck your parents, I don’t think they’ll care anyway. Just do what you want.” 

“That’s the thing. What if I start that only to hate it all over again? Then what, I drop out of that and start over a  _ third time _ ? I don’t think I can do that, BIlly.” Steve sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“You’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. For now, what you need to do is get out of that IT programme and apply for the Education one. You know I’ll always support you and if I think you’re doing something stupid or about to, I’ll give you my honest opinion. Right now, I believe you’re doing something great.” 

Steve smiles at him gratefully, pulling him in for a hug. For the first time in years, he feels like he has a solid plan, a definite direction, and his future is in his own hands. “Thanks,” he breathes against the boy’s neck, feeling Billy shudder in his embrace. 

“You’re making it hard for me to not ask to touch your dick, Stevie.” Billy pulls back with a smirk and Steve rolls his eyes at him. 

“At least take me on a proper date first.” 

“Where the fuck can I take you in this hicktown?” Billy grimaces. 

“I don’t know but you better start thinking.” Steve smirks challengingly. 


	8. Eight

The days bleed one into the next, Steve ferries the kids to the mall, pool and even the Hawk, but doesn’t stick around. He’s stuck on chauffeur duty until Mike’s car is fixed. Billy had told him it’s in the shop but he’s stalling because Mike is an asshole. He agrees wholeheartedly but unfortunately, he’s the one being disadvantaged. Sometimes he hangs out with Nancy and Jonathan. Most times, though, he’s sat behind his laptop, anxiously awaiting a confirmation letter from the university and looking into the Education programme to familiarise himself with the material. Robin keeps him company when she isn’t busy and he misses her dearly, can’t wait to return and squish her in a hug that will undeniably end in his suffering. He talks to Olivia too. Billy comes over after work, even when he’s exhausted, either with takeout or to help Steve cook dinner. Sometimes the party joins them. Tonight though, it’s Nancy and Jonathan at the door. 

He’s not really surprised by them being here. There’s only one week of summer left, after all, and they need to make the most of it before they all go their separate ways until god knows when, but Billy is also here and he isn’t sure he’s lectured him and Nancy enough of the etiquettes of dealing with each other. “Smells good.” Nancy grins, stepping in, Jonathan behind her. 

“Uh, it’s carbonara night. Nonna’s recipe.” Steve replies dumbly. He heads into the kitchen after them where he knows Billy’s coating the pasta in the eggs and pancetta mixture and waits for the inevitable. 

Nancy’s the first to break the silence. “Uh, Steve, what’s Billy doing here?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Billy replies, arching a brow. “I should be asking you that. You’re kind of ruining our date.”

“ _ Date? _ ” 

Jonathan coughs and puts a hand on Nancy’s shoulder. “Babe, chill.” 

“Oh, I’m chill. Hella chill.” She hisses, narrowing her eyes at Steve before storming into the living room, Steve watching the couple disappear behind the wall. 

“So, think we made enough for two more?” He asks nervously, stepping up the stove and peering into the pot. He throws the grated parmesan and black pepper in and stirs again.

“If you give them the leftovers you promised me, I’m going to have to kill her.” Billy says seriously. 

Steve snorts. “You’re so dramatic, sheesh. I can always make some more tomorrow and drop it at work for you.”

“You’d do that?” 

“Yeah, why not? Unless you don’t want me to.”

“No, no. I’d love that.” Billy grins. “Like my perfect little housewife.”

“I’m surrounded by knives, Hargrove. Watch what you say.” Steve threatens, pulling two more plates from the top shelf and letting Billy dump the pasta into them. They gather on the couch and eat, watching  _ Hidden Figures _ \-- Nancy’s choice. Jonathan must have spoken to her because she’s civil, which is more than he can ask for, really. Steve’s surprised to find that when it comes down to it, Billy and Nancy have quite a bit in common. They’re constantly conversing during the movie to the point that half the dialogue gets lost on him and he wants to interrupt and tell them to shut the fuck up, but it’s such a fragile moment of bonding more important than a stupid movie so he swallows his words and keeps his mouth shut. They move from the actresses performances in the roles they played to modern-day empowerment and the dangers of toxic feminism in society. Steve can’t be bothered about such topics, most of the words he can barely understand, and Jonathan seems to be out of his element entirely so they kick back, let the two have at it and enjoy the seemingly light atmosphere. 

"I can’t believe they’re actually getting along.” Jonathan snickers quietly, filming the two for his Snapchat. 

Steve huffs a laugh. “Neither can I. I think when it comes down to it, they’re just too proud to admit that they don’t absolutely detest each other the way they used anymore.” 

“Defo.” The taller boy agrees. He ropes Steve into a couple of selfies all of which are sad and frumpy. His hair’s a mess and his clothes are homey and worn. If his parents saw him, 

they’d have a heart attack. Still, he doesn’t protest when Jonathan posts it - he’s not overly concerned about his looks, the guy he wants already accepts him like this and that’s all that matters. 

He eventually gets bored of sitting around with Jonathan - their conversations are nice but he’s sort of missing Billy’s attention, and while it’s great that his friends and the man he’s dating are actually getting along well, Nancy needs to stop talking and maybe go home. It seems her boyfriend shares his sentiments, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor. Steve decides to take action and gets off the couch, crossing over to the opposite one where the other two are seated and planting himself between them. They barely pay attention to him, that is, until Steve leans back against Billy’s chest, head resting on his shoulder, and looks up at him with sleepy eyes and what he hopes is a charming smile. He sees the exact moment Billy loses his train of thought, trips up on his words, going silent, blue eyes glinting like he’s locked on to something good. 

“Hey there.” Billy says, a low purr against his back. 

“Hey,” Steve replies, breathy, tilting his head back to kiss the stubble growing along his jaw, lips lingering just a tad longer and dragging across the skin. 

“Gross. Get a room.” He hears Nancy say and he looks at her, smirking. “This is my house so  _ you  _ should get a room.

“Are you telling me we can stay the night because please, if you do, I’ll wake up and cook you breakfast, I swear.” Jonathan babbles, the liveliest he’s been all night. 

“Yeah, whatever. You know where the guest bedroom is. Cleaned it yesterday so it’s ready for use.” 

“Where will I sleep?" Billy asks, lips ghosting the shell of his ear. Steve shudders, gripping the couch and swallowing hard. 

“Well, there are three more guest bedrooms but I was hoping you’d stay with me.” He offers bravely. 

“So I get to touch your dick.” Billy says seriously.

“Fuck no, you idiot.” Steve laughs, shoving away from him. “But you can kiss me.” 

“Even better.” Billy smirks. 

They leave their plates and wine glasses on the coffee table, turn off the television and the lights and retreat to their respective rooms, Nancy and Jonathan’s further down the hall. Steve immediately heads to the adjoining en suite in his room, brushing his teeth and washing his face. Billy comes in not too long after to pee. Steve hands him a new toothbrush and lets him freshen up while he changes out of his clothes, leaving him in his boxers. When Billy returns, he’s in a similar state of undress and he lays his discarded clothes neatly on the chaise lounge next to the window unlike Steve who bundled his up and threw it in a corner on the floor. He doesn’t always do that but he’s exceptionally tired tonight and a little anxious too. Even though he made it clear that they were going to keep it safe, sleeping in the same bed is still a big deal, to him anyway, and he knows Billy feels the same. 

Steve’s already tucked under the comforter and he feels Billy’s side of the bed dip, as he settles in. “Damn, Harrington. I forgot just how comfortable your mattress is.” Billy says into the darkness. 

“It’s not too bad. Definitely better than the one at UCLA.” Steve replies, shifting closer to Billy’s side. 

“Have you gotten a response from them?”

“They accepted my withdrawal but I haven’t heard from the faculty of H and E yet.”

“I’m sure you will soon. Don’t sweat it.” Billy moves closer until his side is pressed up against Steve’s. “So about the kissing…” he trails off suggestively with an undercurrent of nervousness Steve wouldn’t have been able to pick up had he not known Billy so intimately for years. He laughs, rolling onto his stomach, half of his body on younger’s. He can barely make out the boy’s features in the darkness but he uses his fingers, maps out his eyes, nose, lips, jaw, all the way down to his neck like he’d wanted to do back at the Wheelers weeks ago. Billy’s breath hitches against his fingertips, his palms curling over Steve’s waist and sliding up his sides gently, cool fingers outlining the dips between his ribs. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Billy murmurs against his mouth. He hadn’t realised his body had moved, face now millimetres apart from the man beneath him. 

“You’re one to talk, with your blue eyes and muscles for days.” 

“Only for you, pretty boy. Only for you.” Billy closes the distance between them. The first kiss doesn’t feel like anything spectacular. It’s warm and wet and their mouths slot together so perfectly that it feels like  _ home _ . Steve sighs into him, pulls back to lick over his lips and then goes in for another kiss, fingers burying themselves in Billy’s hair, the boy’s hands gripping his waist, thumbs tracing circles over his hip bones. 

Billy sinks his teeth into Steve’s bottom lip teasingly, swipes over it with his tongue and Steve can’t help the groan that tapers off into a gasp at the action. They kiss like that, alternating between heavy, hard kisses, licking into each other’s mouths and slick tongues sliding against each other, and short, sweet ones, noses rubbing and smiles pressed together as they laugh at everything and nothing at all. At some point Steve’s lips go numb and not too long after, he falls asleep, head pillowed on Billy’s chest with fingers combing through his hair. 

When he awakes, he’s not entirely surprised to find himself almost smothered to death by the younger. Billy’s twenty-one but sleeps like a freaking toddler, pressed up against his side, arms and legs wrapped tightly around him. Someone knocks on his door again, presumably what had woken him in the first place, and he manages a loud  _ yeah  _ in response, clearing his throat and nudging the other away from him. Billy groans, curses and furrows his brows and Steve kisses him, running his nose along his neck and inhaling deeply. 

“Knew you were fucking sniffing me that day we hugged.” He hears the deep rumble near his ear and laughs, absolutely unashamed. 

“Always did, not gonna stop now when you smell so good.” He replies, allowing himself to be wrapped up tighter. They trade a few lazy, close-mouthed kisses until the alarm on Billy’s phone goes off. He reluctantly tears himself away and sits up, stretching and yawning, and Steve thinks he can definitely get used to a sight like that. 

“Gonna take a piss. If Byers doesn’t have breakfast waiting, I’m sacrificing his girl.” Billy mumbles, heading into the bathroom. Steve eventually rolls out of bed, putting some structure to his hair and tugging on pyjama bottoms. He heads downstairs, uses the powder room on the way to the kitchen, and is surprised to find a stack of pancakes on the counter and eggs being scrambled in a frying pan.

Nancy’s fiddling with the Keurig and he playfully shoves her aside with his hip, taking over and allowing her to sit. She and Jonathan look well-rested, the boy’s even humming away an unfamiliar tune. Warmth suddenly engulfs him from behind and he jumps, relaxing immediately in Billy’s arms, ignoring Nancy’s gagging and Jonathan’s heart eyes. 

They have breakfast in the kitchen, Billy wolfing down most of the pancakes and gulping his coffee despite it still being hot. “Gonna be late.” He explains. “Gotta go home and change.” Steve sighs, a little put-out by the fact that Billy’s leaving. 

Nancy and Jonathan get up as well. “We’re taking the kids on a road trip outside of Hawkins today. Not too far out.” Jonathan explains. 

Billy pauses. “Is Max going too?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Nancy shrugs. “Why?” 

He chews on his lower lip, brows furrowed. “Take care of the little shit for me, will ya?” 

“Obviously. I mean, we’re no Steve but we’re pretty good at babysitting.”

“Shut up, asshole.” Steve laughs and then turns to Billy. “I can go too if you want.”

But Billy shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Wheeler’s got it. I’ll see you later.” He pulls Steve in for a chaste kiss and looks up at him with bright blue eyes and a gentle smile before heading out. Steve chases the other two out of the house, insisting on cleaning up alone since they made breakfast. He takes his time to do so and finally settles on the couch an hour later, opening his email. There, at the top of his inbox, sits a pretty little email from the Faculty of Humanities and Education. 


	9. Nine

"A video interview," Steve mutters for the hundredth time. He's not a pacer but he's been traversing the floor for the past twenty minutes, wearing a path into his mother’s Persian rug from the constant foot traffic. He's nervous sweating, beads of perspiration sticking clumps of hair to his forehead and rolling down his spine. "What the fuck. What the  _ actual _ fuck." Should he tell Billy? Nancy and Jonathan? Robin? Olivia?  _ The kids??? _ No, if this goes horribly wrong, he'll be able to save face if no one had known about it in the first place. He can do this on his own, he doesn't need a crutch. Besides, everyone's busy with their own lives and he doesn't need to add to their burdens. The time on his phone says twelve twenty-one pm. He'd responded positively to the email that requested the video chat to be promptly at two o’clock so he has some time. Steve showers, changes, then changes again, spends  _ forever  _ on his hair, clips his fingernails, runs through possible interview questions on a strange Reddit thread that seems mildly helpful and ends up with five minutes to spare before the aforementioned time. 

His hands shake as he powers up his laptop and logs into the Skype account he hasn't used in  _ years _ . He cringes and quickly changes his username  _ xxxKiNgStEvExxx  _ to his full name, uploads and more recent picture than the old fuckboy one he'd taken at some party back in high school and licks his lips as he types in the Dean's username. By his picture, he seems to be a portly bald man, skin smooth and dark, wrinkles evident only around the bright smile of his mouth. He sits dignified, back straight, blazer pressed and chin up and Steve swallows hard as he adds him, just about shitting himself at the thought of being interviewed by such an esteemed person. No longer than a minute passes before his Skype starts ringing, a nostalgic tone, the Dean’s face showing up on his screen along with the option to accept or decline the video call. 

Steve’s admittedly shaky at first, his natural conversational skills that he’d developed from young to appease his parents at evening parties evade him, his responses stiff and stilted. The Dean points out the oddity of his application, his near failing grades from his old degree, his sudden decision to pull out halfway through. Steve knows that if he was in the man’s shoes he’d be just as sceptical about letting someone like himself into the Education programme. But then the older asks what motivated him to make such a drastic change and the words fall from his mouth before he can even think about it. He talks about his history of caring for the kids, endless days ferrying them around, babysitting, feeding, keeping them out of trouble and getting them out of it when they inevitably do. He talks about Nancy and Jonathan’s suggestion, how he’s chatted a lot with Olivia and done his own extensive research, how he’s hopeful that this is calling. He talks about the importance of adult figures in children's lives, especially at a tender age when it can be a confusing time for them, mentions that he knows from experience and wants to make a difference where he can. “I know I’m not the smartest tool in the shed, I’ve never had that going for me. But when I put my mind to something, I perform with nothing but one hundred per cent effort and dedication. I believe I’ll make a great addition to your faculty and America’s education system.” He finishes. 

Dean Sylvester stares intently at him for a long time before finally nodding.  _ “Very well, Mister Harrington. You are indeed an interesting one. I cannot make my decision right away but as soon as I have an answer, you will be notified. Good afternoon.”  _

The call ends and Steve notices just how dry his mouth is, cheeks hurting from having to keep a polite smile in place even when he felt like bawling his eyes out, and body sore with tension pulling his shoulders tight. His cashmere sweater is stuck to his skin, leaving it itchy and uncomfortable. He's pretty sure he has sweat in places that he's never perspired in before. As he recounts the interview, he cringes at the shaky parts but feels an overall satisfaction at his attempt at conveying his passion for wanting to enrol in the Degree. This is his entire future on the line. Lip wedged between his teeth, he unconsciously chews until the metallic tang of blood assaults his tongue. “Shit,” he sighs, licking at the small wound on the flesh. If he doesn’t get accepted, there’s nothing he’ll be able to do. The registration window is almost closed with the semester opening in two weeks, and he’d already taken so long to set his mind on this that he doesn’t think he’ll have time to consider another option, not that there will be any. His parents will definitely slaughter him then. 

He sits there at his dining room table, staring at nothing in particular, lost in thought for god knows how long until he's startled by the ringing of his phone. When he blinks down at the device, he frowns at the unknown number and the time. It’s nearly five pm which means Billy will call him soon. 

"Hello?" He answers cautiously.

_ "Good evening, is this Mister Steve Harrington?" _ A pleasant feminine voice asks. It reminds him of Joyce and he relaxes immediately. 

"Speaking." He replies. 

_ "Great, my name is Alissa Graham and I'm calling on behalf of Dean Sylvester at the University of California, Los Angeles." _

"Oh, uh, yeah? I mean, yes?" He coughs, heart hammering in his throat. He’d expected a response at least later this week, not on the same day.

It earns him an airy chuckle that has him stupidly blushing.  _ "Dean Sylvester would like me to personally welcome you to the faculty of Humanities and Education. He hopes that you'll enjoy the programme and believes that the world needs more passionate, caring people like yourself. Your career choice as a future educator of our nation's youth is a great one and he thinks you'll find exactly what you're looking for in our dynamic and exciting programme." _

Steve chokes back a sob, phone threatening to slip from between his trembling hands. He did it. He fucking did it, and on the same day too. Did he really make that much of an impression on the esteemed man? "Thank you." He rasps, eyes burning with unshed tears. "Shit, thank you and Dean Sylvester so much."

The woman laughs, this time more genuinely.  _ "You're very welcome. We'll be sending you an acceptance email. You have twenty-four hours in which to respond. From there, you'll be required to return to campus for registration and orientation. Since you were a previous student, I'm sure you'll be able to skip half of the orientation activities but there are a few that are particular to our faculty that you cannot miss." _

"So that means I'll have to come back soon?" He asks hesitantly. 

_ "In three days, to be precise. We'd like to get you acquainted with the education programme and ensure you're prepared for your academic year. Will that be an issue?" _

Steve so badly wants to say yes, but bites his tongue and shuts his eyes. "No," he answers calmly. "Not at all. I'll be waiting to accept the email and I'll be on campus in three days."

_ "Wonderful. Have a great day, Mister Harrington." _

"You too." He ends the call and buries his face in his palms. 

As if the universe is stupidly aligning itself for Steve’s benefit, Billy doesn’t call him. He just finds his way into the house having used the spare key in the flower pot on the front porch, already showered and clean which meant he must have stopped at his place first. He did say something about helping Susan with a squeaky door. Steve still hasn’t moved from his seat, can’t find himself to lift his gaze when Billy calls out to him. Only when the younger’s warm palms slide over his back and through his hair does he lean against the body standing at his side, pressing his face into the boy’s hip and sighing, the action muffled by the fabric of the flannel shirt he’s wearing. 

“Should I be concerned?” Billy asks gently. 

Steve allows himself another minute to collect his thoughts before finally sitting up and looking his boyfriend in the eye. “I received an email about my application.” Billy’s blue eyes widen. “And I had an interview with the Dean of the Faculty of H&E,” he adds. “It was passable.”

“So when will you know?” Billy asks hesitantly. He’s unknowingly tightened his grip where his hand is resting on Steve’s shoulder. 

“I already do. They called me about forty-five minutes ago. I got in.” He whispers.

“What?” Billy yells. “Holy fuck. Shit. Baby, that’s amazing!” His excitement is contagious and Steve feels himself laughing along despite what he has to say next. Billy pulls him up into a crushing hug, smacking a wet kiss onto his cheek, lips wide and eyes brimming with pride. Steve’s never thought that someone could be this happy for his accomplishments, his parents certainly weren’t, but here he is, wrapped up in Billy’s arms, this man a picture of a radiance… all because he got into college again. 

“There’s a catch though.” He says softly. “I have to be on campus this Monday. Something about early orientation, getting a dorm and filling out the necessary papers and all that.” He sees the smile waver and then fade altogether, replaced by a contemplative frown. 

“I thought we had a week left.” Billy mutters. He sounds a little angry, Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too. 

“I guess not.” He sighs. “I have to pack and say goodbye to the shitheads. And Nancy and Jonathan.” 

“And what about me?” 

“Yeah, I…” He trails off, gritting his teeth. The flood of emotions is threatening to overspill where they gather at the corners of his eyes and the tip of his tongue. Instead, he exhales shakily, blinking back the tears and swallowing the lump in his throat. “I don’t think I’m ready to leave us so soon. It feels like we just got back into our groove. That we’re finally making headway and it sucks but-”

“But you have to go.” Billy finishes firmly with a nod. Steve almost recoils at the tone of finality in his words, his fears bubbling to the surface like pressurised noxious gas. Like Billy’s throwing him away so fucking easily  _ again  _ without a second thought, like he meant nothing to the man who retained an iron-grip around his heart for years. Like he’s reliving the shitshow of a relationship with his parents. But then he really looks, sees nothing but sincerity and understanding and  _ love _ in Billy’s bright baby blues, and almost sobs with relief, body sagging as he clings tighter to his boyfriend. “We’ll be okay, Steve. We spoke about the long-distance thing. It wasn’t in enough detail but we knew this time would come. If not today, a week from now when we have to return for the new semester. We’ll figure it out as we go along, though. I promise, alright? Things are different now. This is important to you so don’t hold back. Besides, rich boy like you can always send a ticket my way so I can visit.” He smiles. 

“Thanks.” Steve huffs a quiet laugh that tapers off into a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I’m calling the kids over tonight for dinner. When I break the news, they’re gonna want to spend the night, Dustin especially.”

“I’ll let you have your mommy time with them then.” Billy laughs when Steve scowls. “Susan can finally stop fuckin’ nagging me about being out all the time.” Steve wants to laugh because he hears the fondness in Billy’s tone. Even though they’ve spent practically the entire second half of summer glued to each other, it’s still difficult at times to see Billy at peace with himself and the world, healed, purged of his volatile temperament and self-destructive tendencies - the new normal. 

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow?” There’s a comforting warmth settling over his chest at the simple gesture. Billy could have been selfish with Steve’s remaining time in Hawkins but he knows how much the kids mean to him and he’s willingly giving up their last days without fuss. Just like that. For Steve. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cry but he just might. 

“Yep, I’ll come by after work as usual, though if you have other plans, let me know beforehand, ‘kay?” Steve doesn’t have a response to that. Instead, he tugs Billy forward where his fingers are still curled around the fabric of his shirt, their lips meeting in a gentle embrace. His eyes slip shut, feeling the warmth and solid structure of the man against him, an arm curled around his waist, the other reaching up to cup his cheek, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Billy’s mouth is wet and pliant on his own, their tongues curling together, tasting inherently of sadness. When they part, it’s with heaving breaths, flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. Steve watches him head out the door and turns to his laptop once more, mouth tingling and body warm. The first thing he does is check his email. As promised, the acceptance email is there. He confirms and then books a Sunday night flight to Cali. After, he moves to his phone, typing out a brief description of the last few days, beginning with his withdrawal from his previous degree and ending with the acceptance email he’d responded to moments ago, selects Robin’s, Nancy’s, Olivia’s and Dustin’s chats and hits send. 

He doesn’t expect responses right away so he moves on to the next task. It takes a while to locate the ridiculous walkie talkie he’d thrown on the floor what feels like ages ago but he eventually finds it under the chaise lounge in his room, miraculously still in one piece. He struggles with finding the correct channel before he speaks into it, waiting for a response and has to try twice more before Jane replies, followed by Lucas and Will. 

He keeps the message short, an open invitation to his house tonight with the promise of food and pool usage, and asks them to let the others know. When they confirm, he switches off the damn thing and lets his gaze sweep over the room, heart sinking and throat constricting. Billy’s accumulated clothes over the weeks are folded neatly in a pile, his cologne and toiletries sitting on the dressing table like it’s never not been there with Steve’s. Shaking his head to momentarily dispel the depressive state about to befall him, he heads downstairs, whips up two batches of Ghirardelli brownie mix and orders three pizzas. There’s more than enough beer in the fridge thanks to Billy and he smiles when he finally checks his phone and sees a congratulatory message from Olivia with the offer to share her old notes if he needs them. He winces at the five missed calls from Robin, shooting her a frazzled message of his plans for the night and promising to call her tomorrow. She’s going to be peeved but he can handle that. Dustin had also responded, telling him that they’ll talk tonight. He’s curious by the distinct lack of exclamation marks and all caps letters, a staple to Dustin’s and his conversations, but mostly, the maturity with which he’d handled the news. They’ll sort themselves out later, though. 

It’s around seven when they’re all gathered in the backyard around the pool, pizza boxes sitting on one of the poolside tables and chilled beers in a cooler beneath it. Steve sits on a lounger, fingers wrapped around a cold Corona Lite, his second of the night, a dopey smile plastered on his face. He can’t believe he once thought he could live without this, without these people. At some point, the girls drag him into a game of chicken even though he’s buzzed, Steve teaming up with Erica against Jane and Mike and then Max and Lucas. When things degenerate into an all-out brawl, he retreats to the safety of the lounger unsure of who won, exhausted and cold, ears waterlogged and stomach growling. Dustin saves him the last slice of pizza and square of brownie like the loyal puppy he is, and he ruffles the boy’s wet curls as he scarfs down the food. 

Steve eventually has to lay down the law, haul them out of the water when he sees the way they’re a little more than tipsy, and sends them inside to change. He busies himself with cleaning up around the pool, goosebumps pebbling his skin, the cold summer air a blessed distraction from the thoughts once again creeping up on him between the quiet. When he’s sufficiently satisfied that his backyard doesn’t look like a bunch of maniacal teenagers ransacked it, Steve goes to his room for a quick shower, washing off the stink of chlorine and changing into soft, fleece pyjama bottoms and a worn Hawkins High t-shirt before joining the kids in the living room where they’re already huddled, clean and dressed just as cosily, viewing the latest episode of Jessica Jones. He plants himself next to Dustin on the floor and basks in the comforting atmosphere until the episode ends and chaos resumes. “So,” Dustin begins before Mike can reach for the PS4, “I believe you have something to tell us.” He crosses his arms over his chest expectantly. Everyone’s attention is now on him, curious eyes, with the exception of Max and Dustin. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat and smiles. “I’m leaving in two days.” 

“What?” Erica narrows her eyes. “Doesn’t the new school term start the week after?” 

“Well, that’s the thing.” He laughs nervously. “Remember when I asked you guys if you thought I’d make a good teacher?” Will nods his way, realisation slowly dawning. “Right, well I dropped out of my old degree. Got accepted into the Primary Education Programme. Orientation starts a week before, plus I gotta make sure they transfer my records to the new faculty and whatever. I need to be on campus bright and early Monday morning.” 

“Fuck.” Mike sighs in a rare display of emotion, though Steve knows it’s mainly because they won’t have anyone to buy them beer. Maybe Jonathan but he can be iffy, especially if Nance is around.

“We’re happy for you but it sorta sucks.” Will frowns. The  _ because it’s been two years since the last time _ goes unsaid.   
“I know, guys. Our time got cut short and it wouldn’t be right to fly out without a proper last lap. That’s why I called you all here. I gotta say my goodbyes properly.” 

“What about Billy?” Dustin pipes up. 

“We’ll figure it out.” Steve smiles tiredly. He’s been pointedly avoiding thinking about it. Right now, his focus is on the kids. Tomorrow it’ll be Nancy and Jonathan and Friday into Sunday, he’ll have Billy until his flight at nine pm. 

They play several rounds of Mario Kart and Steve mops the floor with them, cackling at their misery, skills unmatched even after two years. Nancy calls him just as Will switches over to Uncharted and he says his goodbyes, trudging up the stairs, eyes burning with exhaustion. He expresses his plans to see her and Jonathan tomorrow over a smothered yawn and when she agrees, Steve hangs up, falls face-first into bed and promptly passes the fuck out.


	10. Ten

When the kids reluctantly leave the next morning, it’s with sour stomachs filled with whatever cereal Steve had lying around in the pantry and mild hangovers. There isn’t much to clean, he does the laundry and packs his bags, sneaking Billy’s cologne into his luggage all under the watchful eye of Robin from his phone’s perch on his desk. They chat mindlessly and she chews him out for keeping her out of the loop on the happenings but ultimately congratulates him, eyes shining with pride the way Billy’s and the kids had. It makes him all warm and fuzzy on the inside, a little self-conscious and a lot terrified of disappointing them. 

“You _ cannot _ fucking leave our building.” She sneers at every given opportunity, and well, he’s soft for her, she’s his ride or die, so he says okay and assures her that he won’t go to a new dorm even though the walk from his current place to his new faculty will take an extra five minutes. For Robin, it’s an easy sacrifice. Talking keeps his mind occupied and all the little tasks he sets out for himself keeps his body and hands moving, making the shakes in his limbs almost unnoticeable. That’s how Nancy and Jonathan find him an hour later - sweaty, hair a floppy disaster held together by a pink hair tie he’d stolen from one of the girls in his Programming II class, and body taut. They pitch in, clearing out his almost bare fridge and making sure his essentials are stuffed into his suitcase. By the time Steve’s checked off all the boxes on his mental list, they’re sticky and exhausted. Jonathan hauls them to the diner for a late lunch and when Steve expresses he’s not ready to go home, tongue loose from the greasy burger and fries and mega-sized peanut butter chocolate shake, they drive to the quarry where they spend the afternoon pushing each other into the freezing water and skipping rocks that they find on the shore, breaking the still surface of the pool with wide ripples. 

“We’re gonna miss you. I mean, we always do but you actually came home this time.” Nancy sighs. Her damp hair is cold and stiff against his cheek. He shivers as a breeze rustles the trees around them, seeping into his wet clothes. 

“I know. I don’t think it makes sense apologising anymore for the years I went awol. On the bright side, I’ll be back for Christmas. I’ve been invited to crash your weird family’s Christmas dinner.”

Jonathan snorts. “Weird is an understatement. Good luck suffering through Jim’s painfully awkward speeches.” 

Steve pulls a face. “On second thought, I’ll come back for Easter.” 

“Don’t you dare, Steve Harrington.” Nancy shoves him and he laughs. “How’s Billy taking all of this?” She then asks. 

“Pretty well. I guess the two years he had away from everything really helped him heal.” The admission doesn’t sting the way it had in the beginning. “He's been nothing but supportive. I know he’s worried, thinks he's hiding it well, but I can tell. I'm worried too."

"I’m sure you guys will figure things out." Jonathan says sagely. "What you two have is hard to come by."

Nancy sighs. "I hate to admit this, but he's right. Even after all the shit he put you through, there's no doubt he loves you. And you love him too."

"I do." Steve admits with an easy smile. He really fucking loves Billy. Never stopped. "Should we head back?"

"Yes, please. My nipples feel like they're about to fall off." 

Billy’s Camaro is parked in the driveway and the lights are on downstairs when he returns. He receives crushing hugs from the two before waving them away, entering the house when the car disappears from view. A thick, rich scent envelops him in a blanket of warmth and comfort as he steps inside and for a moment he’s suspended in time, sitting at a massive dining table with his nonna’s couch cushion underneath him for elevation, grubby hands clutching the soup spoon, the elder woman watching him fondly as he chows down on his stew. She always made it on cold nights when the temperatures dipped around her quaint home in the Italian countryside. Steve blinks, exhaling shakily, the mirage dissipating before his eyes and leaving him with the current image of a royal blue dutch oven on the stove, Billy standing over it and stirring its contents gently. 

“I’m back.” He announces, wrapping his arms around the man from behind and resting his head in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. He knows his shirt is still damp, it sticks to his skin like a wet blanket, but Billy just laughs against his chest and reaches up to pat his head. “You’re making nonna’s beef stew?” Steve questions, looking down at the bubbling liquid through the rising steam.

“Sifted through the recipe box myself.” Billy grins proudly.

“I didn’t even know we had beef.”

“You didn’t have most of the stuff, pretty boy. I had to run to Big Buy and the butcher’s. Go on up and take a shower. It should be finished by the time you’re done.” 

Steve hums and kisses Billy’s cheek before peeling himself away. He heads upstairs, grabs a change of clothes from his room and goes over to his parents' bedroom. It’s clinically neat, impersonal and undisturbed, furniture kept dust-free by the cleaning service that comes by once a week. Steve feels a pang of hurt that he stomps out immediately, not wanting to ruin the mood he’s in. He runs himself a bath in the luxurious master bathroom and throws in one of his mother’s Lush bath bombs that smells like lavender and mint, sighing as he sinks into the scented warm water. Phone in hand, Steve stares blankly at his e-ticket for tomorrow night’s flight, chewing his lip thoughtfully. He could take a chance. He really could. He’s been toying with the idea since he’d received that call. Closing his eyes, he clicks on the link leading to American Airlines’ website and crosses his fingers. 

Steve embarrasses himself with a drawn-out moan as he devours the stew. It’s fucking delicious, the dumplings perfectly chewy, beef tender, sauce flavourful, and potatoes and carrots cooked through. There’s even bread to soak up the broth with and by the time he’s done, he’s so stuffed that he can pass out right here on the couch, bowl curdled between his chest and knees and head leaning on Billy’s shoulders. “God, you should have been cooking for me all this time.” Steve sighs, patting his stomach. He knows for a fact he’s gained some pounds this summer. 

“I just followed the recipe, baby. Gotta hand it to your grandma though, she knew how to make a good stew. Their bowls are discarded in the sink next to the empty dutch oven and they sip on red wine for the rest of the afternoon, the nostalgia of tonight’s meal prompting Steve to tell Billy about his childhood trips and his grandparents' villa, the smell of rosemary and thyme out front and the citrus-laden trees in the back. How nonna would say,  _ ‘Stephano, caro mio’ _ every time he picked her flowers from the front garden and smack a big, wet kiss to his cheek. 

It gets a little harder when he moves on to life in California, his gratitude to his therapist and Robin for helping him throughout the years, the difficulty of classes, even the guys and girls he’s been with. Surprisingly, Billy takes it all in stride, doesn’t flip out the way he would have aeons ago upon hearing Steve dated and fucked other people when they were apart. It makes him breathe easier, the rigid line of tension melting right off his shoulders and leaving him curled into Billy’s side, wine-dazed and content. Billy’s university stories are a little more exciting. He describes New York to Steve as everything he’d expected it to be - dirty, crowded, wild - and how he’s made a place for himself in the bustling metropolis with odd night jobs in the city that never sleeps. His face is bright and fond when he mentions Doctor Palmer, his own therapist who’d helped him through things that Billy doesn’t go into detail about but Steve knows is  _ really  _ bad. It terrifies him, knowing that he’d had a part to play in that, severing what they had without trying to make it work, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Hindsight is a bitch but an unnecessary one at this point in their lives. 

They talk until their throats are raw with exertion, twilight fading into a hazy deep blue signalling sunrise. Curled up under Steve’s blanket, they sit on the chaise lounge in his room, watching the fiery orb cast brilliant rays of soft yellow light over Hawkins, immersed in the world waking up around them, the sky finally settling on light blue dotted with wisps of white. 

Steve’s eyes grow heavy with each breath he takes from then on, and when he feels Billy’s breathing even out against him, he finally gives in to the pull of sleep. They get about five solid hours before their body clocks protest the unnatural sleep cycle like the true adults they’re supposed to be, and run on coffee the entire day as Billy cajoles Steve out of the house and into the Camaro, roaring through Hawkins like they’re eighteen and wildly in love again, hitting up all their old spots - the diner, the pool, the quarry, their highschool parking lot, the hill just outside of town, the old abandoned lab that they tagged (their names are still there), Merrill’s farm where they’d picked out a pumpkin together for halloween three years ago, and even Melvald’s. The hours spent in the vehicle are made bearable by trading lazy and passionate kisses over the gear shift or with Steve crowded on Billy’s lap when they’re parked, his finger’s buried in blond curls and hot palms gripping his ass. It's a tiring but fulfilling trip and Steve’s pleasantly worn out when they return home, the sky turning dark. “You’re driving me to the airport, right?” He asks, letting Billy lug his suitcase downstairs while he checks the lights and windows on the way, making sure everything is in order. 

“Obviously.” Billy huffs, offended by the question. He locks the front door, taking in the massive shadow of the house before him, regret sweeping over his chest. Billy’s already stowed his precious BMW in the garage, and he comes up next to Steve, squeezing his hip affectionately. “Come on baby, we need to get you to Indianapolis in time for your flight.” 

The ride is a quiet one, their hands linked over the centre console, only breaking when Billy has to shift gears. As the turnoff sign for the airport whizzes past them, Steve turns to the younger. “Come with me.” He blurts. Billy glances over at him, letting out a harsh laugh.

“I wish, Stevie.” 

“No, I’m serious. Come with me. You can stay with me during orientation week, fly back Saturday night.” 

“Steve, your flight is in two fucking hours.” Billy hisses, anger and frustration seeping into his tone. “Don’t make jokes like that.”

“I know. I-” he licks his lips hesitantly, heart hammering against his chest. God, he really shouldn't have done what he did. The anxiety is flaring up beneath his skin, coating him in a thin sheen of sweat, mouth unbelievably dry. “I already booked your ticket. It was a bit late so I couldn’t get you in first class with me but-”

The car comes to a screeching halt on the shoulder and the car behind them honks, the driver rolling down the window, yelling expletives at them. Billy’s eyes are electric blue and wild as he stares at him, fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard, they turn white. “You _ what? _ ” He hisses. 

“I booked you a ticket. I was hoping you’d say yes.” He admits shakily, eyes burning with the weight of unshed tears pooled in them. He knows he sounds desperate, he fucking is. 

“Steve, what the fuck. You didn’t think to ask me about this? I have no clothes. Not even underwear. My car-”

The urge to apologise is sickeningly strong, his stomach twisting itself in knots at how bad he's fucked this up. He'd been doing so well keeping it together this summer but it feels like he's gone back to square one. “I’ll pay the parking fare. You can wear my clothes or I’ll buy you new shit. I was scared, Billy. Shit, I’m still scared. It’s just five days.  _ Please _ .”

“Fuck.” Billy rasps, running his hand through his hair. “Fuck, Steve." He must sense Steve's impending meltdown because he exhales heavily and composes himself, reaching over with ice-cold fingers to cup Steve's cheeks. His thumbs brush over the apples of them gently, wiping away the wetness that he hadn't known was there, mouth quirking fondly. "You’re crazy, you know that right?” He whispers like he's trying to coax a frightened animal out of a corner. "Baby," he murmurs, leaning forward to capture Steve's lips in a wet, salty kiss. "I'll go anywhere with you." 

Steve's breath hitches and he blinks, pulling back to let his eyes roam over Billy's face for any traces of discomfort or reluctance. He finds none. Still, he's unable to hold himself back. "I'm sorry." He sniffs.

Billy laughs and carefully pulls back onto the road, heading for the car park. "Don't be. Thank you for the surprise. You okay now?" 

“I will be.” Steve responds as honestly as he can. It’s not a direct answer but it’s as good as one, the onslaught of turbulent emotions still overwhelming his system. He's going to have to take something strong to cope during the flight. 


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, I apologise in advance for the weird smut. And also for being shitty at updating. The entire story was written out ages ago. I'm just lazy at completing the final editing and posting x.x

Steve hates that he wasn’t able to get Billy a seat in first class with him now more than ever. The old lady at his side is quiet and pleasant company, but he needs Billy’s warmth and assurance that his boyfriend isn’t furious at the stunt he’d pulled. Combined with the shock that this actually happening, the reality that Billy is actually coming out to California with him like it should have been two years ago - like they’re about to start their lives together in a new city, attending the same college and sharing a dorm - he’s more than overwhelmed. Steve pops one of his mother’s Xanax that he’d raided the medicine cabinet in the master bath for, praying for sleep to take him before he can work himself into another meltdown, the fear that he’s getting his hopes up for nothing sticking to him like a shadow. As soon as he buckles up, he desperately summons the weight of his eventful day and is out before the plane can fully taxi down the runway. 

He’s woken mid-flight by the air hostess, head foggy from the medication and body floaty as he’s offered warm chocolate chip cookies and a fruit bowl along with a cup of cool water that goes down his throat smoothly and refreshes him. It does little to rouse him fully and as soon as Steve thanks the steward who collects his trash, he’s out again. The next time he awakes, the old lady at his side is shaking his arm with a wrinkled smile, her thick-framed glasses askew on her nose as she tells him they’ve landed. 

Billy looks tired, eyes puffy with lingering sleep but strangely wide like he’s unable to fathom that he agreed to leave Hawkins behind and follow Steve blindly back to his hometown. They get through immigration easily and collect Steve’s luggage from the rotating belt. The airport’s packed as usual but the taxis are lined up and waiting and Billy flags down a ride. Steve is still loose-limbed and serene from the medication and the trip passes in relative silence, their hands clasped and resting on the seat between them. When they finally pull up at the sprawling campus, Billy lets out a low whistle. Even at ass o’clock in the morning, it looks spectacular though he’s sure it can’t be compared to fucking New York.

“Come on,” he says. “My building’s this way.” They pass a few joggers along the ten-minute walk, Billy still carrying his luggage, and Steve greets the doorman who recognises him instantly, introducing Billy as his guest for the next week. 

“This is a fucking fancy place, Harrington.” Billy marvels during the elevator ride. 

Steve shrugs. “It’s not the  _ most  _ expensive but it’s a lot better than three-quarters of the other dorms.” The elevator is proof of that, even the fucking doorman. The metal box comes to a halt and dings, sliding open on the third floor. They pass several doors until they’re at the end of the dimly-lit hallway. Steve stops at the last one on the right and pulls out a key card. He swipes it over the electronic pad nestled into the wall and it clicks open. “Robin’s over there, by the way.” He points at the door opposite him. 

It’s a modest studio apartment that boasts a tiny but well-equipped kitchenette tucked into a corner, a three-seater couch just a couple steps away facing a television on a stand against the wall, and then a free-standing folding screen separating the bedroom that consists of a double bed pushed against the wall next to a nightstand and a floor to ceiling closet. Steve sets his suitcase down in the living area and flops onto the couch. “My parents furnished the place.” He explains, gesturing at the space, “That’s why everything looks so new and nice. The bathroom’s there, by the way.” He points at the door next to the tv. “Honestly, I like it here more than I like my own house.” 

“I can see why.” Billy laughs. There are bits and pieces of Steve everywhere, and even though his parents bought all of the furniture, it was to his liking, a stark contrast to the clinical, sleek design of their house back in Hawkins. 

Steve checks his phone and sighs. “I have a meeting with my academic advisor at eight, which is in two hours, so you can sleep in. I’ll text Robin to let her know you’re here and she can bug you whenever she wakes up - she has a spare pass. I’m gonna shower. Oh, there’s supposed to be eggos the freezer if you’re hungry.” Steve’s already pulling off his clothes on the way to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. There’s a standing shower that’s barely big enough for two people on one end, a sink with a mirror above it in the middle, and the toilet at the other end. It’s a little cramped and sometimes he can hear his neighbour through the wall but he doesn’t mind. Steve sighs under the warm spray of water, tension bleeding out of his muscles from the long flight. He squirts a generous amount of shampoo into his hand and lathers his hair, taking his time to really work the expensive liquid into his scalp. He’s just washing out the conditioner when the shower door slides back and Billy steps in, naked. 

Steve swallows, eyes shamelessly roaming over every inch of the younger’s body, from his broad, tanned shoulders to his cock that sits at half-mast between his legs. “My eyes are up here, darling.” Billy teases with a smirk, and Steve rolls his own, moving aside to give him some more space. Billy steps under the spray, washing himself, and Steve’s fingers itch to run his palms over the wet skin, feeling the muscles jump beneath his fingertips. Despite all the time spent together, they’ve truly been taking things slow, having done nothing more than exchange a few handjobs, save for that one time Billy surprised him with a blowjob in the kitchen to which he enthusiastically returned the favour. Arousal licks at his belly at the thought of finally graduating to something more intense, breath hitching when Billy finishes washing himself and turns, moving toward him with intent. Steve’s skin meets the cool wall, the shorter caging him in with bulging arms at either side of his head. 

“When’s the last time you opened up, pretty boy?” His breath is warm against the shell of Steve’s ear, fingers trailing down his chest lightly, toying with the trail of neatly trimmed brown curls beneath his navel. 

Steve’s hips make an aborted movement, chasing the friction that his now blatant erection desperately needs. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s had sex of any kind. “Maybe a little over half a year?” 

Billy groans, a disappointed sound. “Same.” They both know it’s going to take a generous amount of time to prep, not wanting to rush something as intimate and important as this, and they don’t have that luxury at the moment. Hell, Steve’s surprised the water hasn’t begun to turn cold yet. “Alright, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna spread you real nice and eat you out, and later we can get to fucking, ‘kay?” The sleazy smile on his face makes Steve snort, a grin tugging at his lips. He surges forward and captures Billy’s mouth in a heated kiss, lips parting automatically, giving entrance to Billy’s fucking sinful tongue. It curls around Steve’s mouth filthily, licking over every inch and drawing heavy moans and harsh pants from the depths of his chest, filling the space between them. When Billy breaks the kiss, it’s with a hint of teeth, and he squeezes Steve’s ass roughly, letting go only to deliver a wet slap to the flesh. 

“Ow, fuck,” Steve hisses, biting down on Billy’s jaw in retaliation. He’s so,  _ so _ hard, Billy knows he likes the pain, and he easily complies when coarse hands turn him toward the wall, pulling back his hips, Billy’s foot kicking his legs apart a little wider. Steve lets his forehead and arms press against the wall, willing his body to relax as the water finally goes cold around them, his heart racing in his chest. 

“Come on, I don’t have all day.” He looks over his shoulder glaring down at his boyfriend who’s on his knees staring at Steve’s ass almost reverently. 

“You such a bossy bitch.” Billy snickers, grabbing Steve’s ass cheeks and squeezing them before running his fingers over the flesh with just the slightest pressure, causing a shiver to wrack Steve’s body. 

“Jesus, Billy.” Steve huffs, voice strained. His cock is about to burst, balls already drawn tight, head a deep shade of red and glistening with precome. Billy parts his cheeks, letting out a hot puff of air over his entrance. Steve’s moan bounces off the wall. The press of his tongue flat against his hole has him falling forward even further with a grunt. He’s so fucking sensitive, it’s been a long time since he’s been touched there. 

“Just like that, Stevie.” He hears Billy murmur above the water beating down on the tiles before he licks a long, slow stripe over the rim, mouth closing over it and lips moulding themselves around the furled hole. Steve cries out, thighs straining as he pushes back, chasing more of that feeling, more of Billy’s tongue teasing circles around him, just barely dipping in. The fingers pushing his cheeks apart are bruising and he’s no doubt going to have imprints that’ll leave him sore for a while but he can’t possibly care, not when there‘s a thick finger circling the rim, dipping in ever so slightly alongside Billy’s masterful tongue. 

“ _Oh fuck_. Oh fuck, shit. Billy, I  _ need _ to come.” Steve gasps. He’s beyond turned on, ograsm building like a fire in his belly, every nerve ending set ablaze with the need to release. The finger slowly pushes in, feels a little strange with the lack of lube, but not unwelcome, sitting in the tightness of his ass. And then it curls into his prostate and Steve yells, knees buckling as his orgasm crashes through him. He catches himself just barely, chest heaving, splotches of white dancing behind his closed lids. His throat is dry and hoarse when he finally peels his lids open and he looks down, horrified when he sees his come splattered against the tiles. He came untouched. He fucking came untouched. Behind him, Billy laughs softly and stands. 

“Not bad.” He grins, that demonic tongue licking over his teeth. 

“This is your fault.” Steve groans, cheeks burning with embarrassment, too unsteady on his legs to do much more than glare from his place against the wall. 

“I take full credit.” Billy winks and then curls his palm around his own straining cock, letting out a hiss at the sensitivity from finally being touched. 

“Hey,” Steve huffs, batting the hand away. “It’s my turn.” The blond simply arches a brow, gestures at himself with open arms and lets Steve get onto his knees, mouth hovering over the shaft. 

“Just a heads up, I’m gonna blow my load as soon as you touch me.” Billy’s words taper off into a drawn-out moan as Steve’s mouth slides over the swollen head, tongue dipping into the slit to collect the dribble of precome. He hums at the salty taste, closes his eyes and focuses on taking as much of the length as possible. Billy isn’t long but his girth is impressive and Steve’s reminded of all the times it nearly shattered him from the inside when they fucked back in highschool. It feels like an eternity ago and he breathes out through his nose, eyes fluttering open to look up at the boy above him. Billy’s got one hand resting gently in Steve’s hair, the other, scraping at the tiles as he resists the urge to thrust. Steve’s fairly good at deep-throating, actually prides himself on it, and he taps Billy’s thigh, nodding when azure eyes meet his own.

It’s all Billy needs to let go, fingers tightening around the wet strands of hair, Billy pulling back before slamming in. Steve’s caught off-guard a little, staggering back but the hand in his hair keeps him in place. He loosens his jaw, shuts his eyes and feels the thick length against his tongue, the blunt head hitting the back of his throat, the taste of Billy coating his entire mouth. He hums, the act squeezing his throat around the member and causing Billy keen. “Fuck, just like that baby. Shit.” Billy’s words are barely coherent, rushed and breathy and Steve thinks he sounds so fucking beautiful. He thrusts again and then twice more before his entire body jerks and shakes, warm liquid hitting the back of Steve’s throat and causing him to cough, pulling off the cock. The last couple droplets of come land on his cheek and chest and he looks up at Billy, back pressed to the wall for support, chest heaving and eyes blown wide. He’s Steve’s Adonis and the brunet carefully gets to his feet, ignoring the ache in his knees, kissing him deeply. Billy reciprocates, arms wrapping around him and holding him tight as their lips meet over and over before moving under the cold water to wash away the last of their spunk. Steve’s exhausted and takes his time getting ready, waiting until the last possible minute to leave. Billy lying naked on his bed, sleepy eyes and warm smile directed at him as he heads out the door. 

  
  


By the time he returns, it’s mid-afternoon and Steve has sweat dripping down his balls  _ Lil Jon  _ style. He’d forgotten just how painfully hot California is, and having to make several trips between his old faculty, the new one and the campus registrar to ensure his documents were all there and properly transferred was more exhausting than he’d imagined. Seriously, fuck university registration systems. Why couldn’t they just fax or email his documents? His annoyance spikes when he opens the door to Billy and Robin screaming their asses off at each other, Billy in a pair of sweats that belongs to Steve and Robin in acid-washed jeans and a black crop top. They stop when they see him and he spares them a scathing glare before going straight to his bed and flopping onto it.

“Okay, hold the fuck up. I know you didn’t just come back to Cali after two months of summer in Hawkins just to pass me straight. You little fucker.” Robin hisses as she follows him and jumps onto his back. Steve groans into his mattress and takes satisfaction in her disgusted yelp when she feels his sweat-drenched t-shirt against her skin. “Get off your bed, dingus. You’re disgusting.” She pulls his arm but is unsuccessful. Steve just wants to remain dead to the world for a little bit. 

“Okay, fine. We’re doing this the hard way. Hey asshole!” She yells over the room divider, “Come get your idiot boyfriend off the bed!” 

Steve doesn’t wait for Billy to arrive, he gets off the bed immediately, too tired and gross to deal with two big babies. “So,” Robin smiles victoriously when Billy joins them on the bed, “we were arguing about what to get for dinner. Good call bringing him along, by the way. He used to annoy me endlessly with questions about you.”

“Shut it, Buckley.” Billy snaps and Steve smiles. He’s heard it before but it always feels good knowing that Billy still cared about him even after the messy breakup. 

“Let’s take an uber to Santa Monica Pier. I want the fish tacos from Pedro’s and weirdly, I’ve missed the beach.”

“Liar,” Robin snuffs, mouth curled into a fond smile. “You just wanna be romantic and shit with your man.” 

“That too.” Steve laughs and Billy snorts, shaking his head. It’s fairly uncrowded when they get there but the look on Billy’s face when he finally gets to feel the sand between his toes and the cool water of the rising tide brush his ankles is all Steve can focus on. He fits right in with the scenery, setting sun dancing off his golden skin and blonde curls, a gentle breeze caressing him. The three of them devour four tacos each, Robin catching them up on her latest conquest, a pretty brown-skinned girl with cat-like eyes and a bright smile by the name of Anjali. Steve messages the kids to let them know he’s all well and fine in the group chat, and assures Max with a video of her brother kicking saltwater at him like a child, that Billy’s doing well too. Billy’s arm curls around his waist, pulls him closer and he presses his lips to Steve’s cheek, nosing his hair affectionately. It’s a perfect afternoon and Steve shuts his eyes and basks in the moment, a content smile spread across his lips.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dudes, we have reached the end! Hope you all enjoy!

By Thursday, he’s finally free of orientation activities and is able to take out a rental car for the school year, paying with his credit card. He’s finally at peace, his documents in order, fees paid and processed and books for the year already purchased and on their way. He’s always had the convenience of money at his disposal and he wonders how difficult it must be for Billy who’s on a partial scholarship, and Robin who has a full scholarship but still has to wait tables for extra cash for necessities. Billy drives, refamiliarises himself with his old neighbourhood and catalogues all the changes. He takes Steve around Cali and shows him the clubs he used to go to, his favourite gay bar, the street he lived in and the middle school he went to. They stop at his favourite Mexican restaurant for  _ authentic  _ Mexican cuisine and then to Billy’s favourite beach where the waves are high enough to surf. Steve rents him a board and watches from the sand as he wipes out time after time, unsteady from years of not being able to practice. He eventually calls it a day when he manages to ride  _ one _ wave without falling off and counts it as a success and Steve has at least twelve videos in his camera roll to add to the collection of pictures taken throughout the week.

On Friday night, Billy fucks him long and hard into the mattress, really takes his time teasing, edging them both in the most deliciously frustrating way that has tears pooling at the corners of Steve’s eyes. Steve’s phone is ringing incessantly somewhere in the kitchen, undoubtedly calls from his parents after seeing the bank statement of his academic expenses. He tunes it out, focuses on the thick, hard cock driving into him, the swollen head dragging against his walls, brushing his prostate, the heavy breaths against the back of his neck and eager lips and sharp teeth marking his skin. They smoke after that, boneless and content and wrapped up in each other’s arms, passing a joint between them. The window above the bed is open to let the smoke out and the cool night air in. Billy rides Steve the next morning, all hard lines of muscle and golden skin shifting under the hazy, early sunlight. Steve comes so hard he nearly throws Billy off him when his hips buck. They laze around, trading slow kisses, Billy’s fingers brushing through Steve’s hair until Robin brings them pizza and beer, wrinkling her nose at the blotches of deep reds and purples all over Steve’s skin while Billy smirks triumphantly. 

“I’m gonna miss you.” Steve sighs that night. Billy doesn’t have to pack, he came with nothing, but he has a small duffel bag that Steve had gotten him filled with one or two of his shirts and other stupid but invaluable things they’d collected while driving around. They’re standing outside the terminal, Steve leaning against the car and Billy with the bag slung over his shoulder. He’s even more tanned now but somehow it looks perfect and effortless, skin like brown sugar. 

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Billy smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He steps up to Steve and falls into his arms. They stay like that for a while in silence, having already said all they needed to earlier in the day. “Don’t ghost me this time, Harrington. I know how to find you and I swear I’ll fucking walk to California if I have to.”

“Now I’m definitely gonna do it.” Steve laughs when Billy grants him an unimpressed stare. “I promise I won’t. Just message me when your flight lands, okay?” 

“Yeah.” Billy pulls away and Steve almost reaches out for him but holds back, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. “Hey, Harrington.” Billy calls out, eyes flashing brightly. 

“Yeah, Hargrove?” Steve plays along. It’s like basketball in Hawkins High’s gym all over again with constant taunts breathed into his ear from behind and too much tongue and rough touches. 

“I love you, pretty boy.” 

Steve’s mouth goes slack, eyes going wide at the confession. He’s been fucking itching to say it but kept chickening out every single time, telling himself that next time would be more ideal. When they were together before, Steve was the first to say it on a warm Spring night in his backyard, the two of them lounging on pool chairs, hands linked by the pinkies as they stared up at the star-speckled sky, beer warm in their bellies. The weight of the words has his vision blurring with tears that he struggles to keep at bay, blinking rapidly, breath hitching. “I love you too.” He replies so quietly that he thinks Billy doesn’t hear him. But maybe he does because his mouth curves into a gentler smile, baby blues going glassy.   
  
  
  
  


_ Epilogue _

  
  


Steve isn’t particularly fond of formal wear mostly because it reminds him of lavish galas at the country club or his fucking pretentious home and feeling out of place and under scrutiny by people who could fuck off, but today is different. Today is special. He’s pulled out his favourite suit, a form-fitting, black three-piece and his hair is styled perfectly, Gucci loafers spotlessly shined. He knows he’s turning heads as he passes rows upon rows of chairs, finally locating the bright orange hair that’s neatly styled into a bun today seated all the way in the front row. She’s glaring around her, possibly to ward off any tools trying to snag up the empty seat at her side. Steve slips in next to her and she jumps, causing him to laugh. When she really notices him, her eyes widen, grey orbs sparkling, a mischievous smile curling on her lips. “Oh boy, Billy’s not gonna take his hands off you today. Or tonight.” She adds, scrunching up her nose. 

“That’s sorta the plan.” Steve winks and receives a whack to the arm. The graduation ceremony begins and Steve passes time through all the speeches by zoning out. Max elbows him when the important bit actually starts and the graduating classes finally begin to cross the stage to receive their degree certificates. He’s read through the itinerary three times, knows exactly where Billy’s name is and waits at the edge of his seat, feet bouncing impatiently until the younger’s name is called with  _ First Class Fucking Honours _ . He and Max jump out of their seats, screaming their heads off and he catches Billy’s eye from all the way on the stage, trading smiles before seating himself once more. Max holds his hand for the rest of the ceremony, palm cold in his own, and he squeezes it gently every now and then to remind her that things are going to be more than okay now. 

They patiently wait at the sidelines, watching Billy take pictures with his friends and roughhouse with some of the guys. When he’s finally said his goodbyes, he walks up to them, grin so wide, Steve thinks it might be a little painful. “Congrats asshole.” Max says solemnly and punches Billy in the arm before crushing him in a tight hug. She keeps her face buried in the crook of his neck, they’re nearly the same height now, and Steve sees the little tremor in her shoulders as Billy wraps his arms around her, running a soothing palm up and down her back. 

“Okay, that’s enough of your emotional shit, Maxine,” He eventually says, peeling the girl off him. They both have watery eyes and red noses but neither comment on it and Steve smartly remains mum. Billy then turns to him, grin softening. “Come here, pretty boy.” Steve complies, hugs him tightly and kisses his cheek, breathing in his cologne and hair gel. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” He whispers against Billy’s neck. “You have no idea.” His voice cracks with emotion but he’s determined not to cry. 

“Thank you.” Billy whispers sincerely. He clears his throat and breaks the hug, pressing his lips to Steve’s. “You look so fucking delicious, by the way. I’m gonna fuck you in the that tonight.”

“Gross!” Max yells, pulling her phone to her chest. She’d evidently been recording their interaction and must have gotten that last part as well. 

Steve cackles. “Please don't. The dry cleaners will hate me and my parents aren’t paying my bills anymore.” He turns to Max and pulls her in for a group hug and a few selfies before they head back to Billy’s dorm to get the last of his luggage. Steve had driven the Camaro all the way up to New York with Max and now they’re taking it back to Hawkins for a couple of days before roadtripping it all the way to Cali. 

All three of them. 

Max worked her ass off to get into UCLA and wants to get there ahead of her first semester to spend time with Billy and Steve at the shoddy little apartment just outside of the university that they’ve managed to score. “Can’t wait to show up at your graduation looking like a fuckin’ meal.” Billy laughs, shutting the trunk. They’ve finally cleared out the dorm room and returned the keys. Billy gets into the driver’s seat, Steve in the passenger’s and Max in the back squished between the boxes and bags. 

“You have a two-year wait.” Steve snorts, getting comfortable. It’s a twelve hour drive back home, maybe more if the traffic is particularly harsh. Money is tight since Steve’s parents cut him off after finding out about the life and career choices he’s made, and Billy advised him against dipping into his trust fund so he’s had to get a fucking job, but it’s Billy’s graduation and they deserve to splurge a little. Steve booked them a Sheraton in Pennsylvania for the night. 

“I’m pretty good at waiting.” His boyfriend grins. 

“If you guys don’t stop flirting with each other, I’m going to fling myself out the window. Not kidding.” Max growls, kicking Billy’s seat from behind. 

“Don’t do that, shithead.” Billy whips around and hisses. “Or I’ll be throwing you out, myself.” It’s an empty threat but Max settles down and for once, Billy doesn’t play his atrocious heavy metal. He lets the radio dictate what they listen to and it’s a great night with cool wind, pop music and the taste of freedom and hope on their tongues. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read and left a kudos on the story. It was my first Harrigrove fic written. 
> 
> I'll be posting more soon. I have a host of them that I've been working on so keep your eyes peeled!


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